Pawn
by D R A G O N L I L I E S
Summary: DISCONTINUED. Hitsugaya is sent to the Icemark, and death gets difficult as he finds he can't return to Seireitei. A new war is on the horizon- Ichimaru is plotting. He must find what's wrong; he doesn't want to know what'll happen if he can't. CryofIcemark
1. The Boy in the Snow

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

This takes place between the massive time skip between the first and second books.

* * *

Declaimer: I do not own Bleach nor The Cry of the Icemark, but I own this storyline.

**-1-**

**The Boy in the Snow**

High on the imposing walls of Frostmarris, several guards on watch stood stiff and alert, seemingly immune to the extreme cold of the winter night. The sky was dark, and no stars stood out in the mass expanse. Retreating storm clouds scratched across the darkened horizon, barely visible, a sliver of moon shedding light across the frozen plains stretching out before them.

The wind picked up, and one of the sentries shivered. It was ever so slight, but his companion noticed and a sly grin began to tweak the taunting corner of his mouth. The Corsairs and Zephyrs, enemies of the Icemark, had recently begun warring with them, and their troubles were never going to be over at this rate. Tensions were high-strung, and on some days the sentry could just _see_ miniature lightning bolts sparking in the air.

"Hah! Cold getting to you, Timor?" the man joked, giving said Timor a push. "Of course not, Jackson," Timor responded indignantly.

Jackson's grin died a little as he brushed his bangs out of his face.

"Tim, you're such a liar."

Timor huffed, and with an exasperated shake of his blond head, acquiesced, "If you insist, Jackson, if you insist. I'm just a _little_ cold, then."

"_A little_?! It's either that you're lying, or you're hardcore," Jackson snorted. "I'm freezing half to death, can't wait for the change of guard," he added as an afterthought, relinquishing his tight hold on his axe and rubbing his stiff arms. Timor silently agreed, but did not voice his opinion.

It was natural for him wanting to bolt inside the fortress and take a long, hot, soaking bath to thaw out his toes, but he'd been assigned to this position by the Queen- well, more like Queen-to-be, since she was not married quite yet (but Timor would bet on it any day)- Thirrin herself. And being assigned to this position by the Queen herself meant great responsibility, and great responsibility meant trust.

His grey eyes raked what he could see of the white snow, brilliant even under such dim light. Frowning, a muscle incessantly jumped in the corner of his cornea, but he made no move to stop it. His gloves were chilly and ice-cold, and if he pressed it to his skin undesirable results would be the consequence.

There was a painfully slowly approaching dot of black in the snow, and every once in a while it stumbled. Timor's heart gave a jolt in his rib cage.

"Hey, Jackson, see that?"

"See what?"

Jackson's eyes instantly searched the cold snowy landscape before them.

"Oh yeah! It's getting closer," he said, his hand brushing back his thin brown bangs that got in the way too often. "Oi!" he called to the sentries next to them, who perked up noticeably.

"There's something –probably someone- getting closer. Keep an eye on that black person. Dot. Thing. Whatever," he instructed while maintaining a cheerful exterior.

Timor concentrated. There it was, getting closer towards a brighter mound of ice, and-

Dull surprise flashed across Timor's face.

"Hey, Jackson," the blond muttered, jabbing a gloved finger into his friend's stomach.

"Yeech! Dude, stop it. Seriously," warned Jackson. "And what?"

"I think I know what we're looking at here."

* * *

Wandering in the snow, Hitsugaya Toshiro, child prodigy, Heavenly Guardian, Tenth Division's Captain of the Gotei 13, cursed the insufferable idiots that managed the Senkai Gates.

As soon as he found a way back to Soul Society, he'd hunt down the guards that took care of the Gates and personally turn them into walking ice cubes. On second thought, first he'd remove their ability to reproduce and then turn them into walking ice cubes.

Perfect.

It had been three years since the Winter War.

The longest three years of his life, he knew. The longest, the most tedious, and the most painful.

He'd been assigned to take care of a horde of 20 or so Fraccion Arrancar that appeared in another place named the _Icemark_, of all names available. They'd escaped the Shinigami during the Winter War, no doubt, and Hitsugaya had taken out his frustration at the rest of the world on them, unleashing a full blown blizzard and taking their heads off with Ryuusenka.

Their blood still stained his robes.

He didn't care about his surroundings and whether he accidentally killed someone; he felt reckless, even though he knew that the people in this dimension could see him as plainly as he could see them. It seemed that they were used to dealing with the supernatural.

It was just one Hinamori Momo.

Hitsugaya felt tired, and weary.

Aizen, of course, was dead. He'd taken care of that himself, and delighted in every moment of it, lopping off the bastard's head with clean precision that had taken time to learn. But Hinamori was still mourning. She was still mourning. Had called him a murderer and a liar, in fact.

_"Shiro-chan, I hate you!!" a weakened girl sobbed, shoving him away furiously. "I hate you, you- you-!! You murderer! You liar! Get out!! GET OUT!!"_

The guilt made him feel weak, and guilt never has positive outcomes when you are sent to fight a few minutes after.

Subsequently finishing them off, a heavily wounded Hitsugaya had slid his zanpakutou in between the dimensions and said, "Unlock" to open a Senkai Gate back to Soul Society. But the Gate would not open. He'd tried again and again, and even used his Spirit phone to call Kurotsuchi's lab. Even severely winded from the battle, his mind was still clear, and he knew that they were in charge of the Gates. But the retarded clown didn't pick up.

He tried for Ukitake's next, and then Unohana's, and then Kyouraku's, but to no avail. His connection was cut off.

So Hitsugaya had been left in this wretched situation, Hyourinmaru sheathed on his back, heels of his shoes bitten off by frostbite, leaving bloody footprints in the snow. The white-haired captain knew that even though he was used to the cold and didn't mind it, with his current condition, even he would be lucky to even last a few more hours.

Seeing a massive, silvery fortress in the distance, Hitsugaya knew that it was definitely his only chance of survival.

"Why is it always me?" he snapped to no one in particular, and laboriously, foot in front of foot, he started for civilization.

* * *

"What is it?" Jackson looked at Timor expectantly, and his voice wafted across the top of the battlements, catching the attention of the other housecarls.

"Uh, to be precise," Timor informed uncertainly, "It's a little boy. A little boy with white hair wearing the weirdest clothes I have ever seen."

The confused glances of the other sentries locked on him.

"Boy? Hah?" Jackson squinted at his partner's face. His bangs getting in his eyes again, he wiped them by irritably. "Timor, you sure the cold didn't get to you? Emphasis on the sure part, buddy."

The other guards were already well leaning over the wall, hands gripping the frozen stone tightly as to make sure they would not slip off.

"No, Timor's right," exclaimed Eodur, a tall thin boy with long black hair and the beginnings of a wispy beard. "It _is_ a little boy."

No one doubted Eodur's eyes. Personally, Timor thought it was rather unfair, but Eodur had more experience as a lookout than he did.

"Holy _mushrooms_, a boy!?"

"You're kidding!"

"He looks like he's wearing pajamas! Wheeew, must be freezin'."

"Odinpleasedon'tletitbeaCorsairoraZephyrIdon'twannafightinthisweather!" prayed another, pressing his hands to his temples in salute to the gods.

"I'm going to summon the captain of the guard!" Eodur muttered lowly to Jackson, his long legs reaching the door that led inside the fortress in no time at all.

"Hey!" cried Timor, pointing at the scene before him. There had been black dots following the boy's feet and suddenly as the 'kid' came closer into view they came into focus. "His feet're bleeding! How the- what the hell??"

Clearly not intrigued by the sight of the red liquid, Jackson's face immediately took on one of concern as well. "Odin! He sure is! How'd he get in that condition? C'mon, we gotta get a witch to heal him! Open the gates, and hurry up!" Jackson roared to those in charge of opening and closing the gates to the city.

They gave several nods and rushed to the rampart wheel, dragging the chains apart to roll the gate up, but a silky and powerful voice intervened.

"No, keep the gates closed, men. We are in the middle of the war, and white-hair? Quite suspicious, if you ask me," drawled the figure now reappearing with Eodur, who was fidgeting uncomfortably.

Jackson immediately whipped around, his normally pleasant face contorted. He could be a very emotional person at times. As soon as he located the person however, his attitude cleared, but dislike remained strong in his voice.

Straightening, he said in a dead sort of tone, "Captain Magnus."

Captain Magnus was a probably the most pompous and disliked Captain in the entire of Frostmarris. At least he was in the housecarls' opinions. Still, everyone had to admit, however grudgingly, that the tall, well-built man kept his head on in the midst of battle. He was a tactical master and his swordsmanship was superb as well. Magnus was also a master womanizer, with good looks and an entertainingly witty mind.

"Don't let the boy in. We shall inform the Queen of this in the morning," Captain Magnus yawned, blue marble-like eyes glinting in the moonlight.

An uproar rose at his words, the soldiers shouting loud enough to wake the entire city.

"Captain Magnus! That's a little boy down there!" Timor protested roughly, marching forward. "He's young enough to be about 10 or 12! He's just a child!"

"Yeah! Captain, this is an outrage!"

"What are we now, murderers??"

"Yah, Cap'n, this is stew-pid!"

"Odinpleasedon'tcurseusfornotlettingthiskidinbutyouknowitreallyisquitedangerousImeaninfactthisisverydangerousbutweshouldstilllethimin…"

Silently, with threat in his eyes, Magnus began to say something, no doubt about demoting them, but a high voice that held authority in every syllable rang out shrilly and furiously.

"What is the meaning of this??"

Every guard stood to attention, as did Magnus. "Queen Thirrin!"

Thirrin stood, golden red hair hanging loosely around her shoulders in a halo of fire, positively glowering. Behind her stood Oskan, who looked slightly disgruntled but curious all the same.

"It is 12 o'clock in the middle of the night!" she barked impatiently. "If we are under attack, just ring the attack bell!"

"Your Highness," Timor began courageously. "Yes?" Thirrin's eyes pierced him and pinned him down, but he continued. "Your Highness," he repeated, voice a bit hoarser, "There's a boy bleeding and in the snow, but Captain Magnus won't- er, won't let us open the gates."

"Show me this instant," she demanded, eyes glowing with a feline sort of tone.

Oskan looked at the sky.

"No stars," he noted thoughtfully, and quickly pursued Thirrin's retreating back.

* * *

Hitsugaya coughed, blood leaking out of the corner of his mouth. He wasn't going to last much longer. The ice bit into his skin, sending razor-sharp waves of pain around his body. Thankfully, he was already at the gates of the fortress he'd sighted. Hitsugaya hoped they'd be hospitable, eyes taking in the massive frame of the doors. They loomed into the sky, black and strong, formidable and brittle.

He could hear shouting, two clear voices declaring that he should be let in, the others a jumble of vocal chords. But barely century-old Captain could feel their doubt as clear as day.

"Shit." Hitsugaya growled under his breath. Hyourinmaru hummed worriedly in the back of his mind, sensing his master steadily weakening.

Thirrin gasped as she looked out over the wall. The boy was so young, far younger than she and Oskan, both sixteen years of age, Oskan nearing his seventeenth year.

"Oskan," she prodded his arm softly. "Do you think he is a threat?"

Bending over the ramparts, Oskan looked down, scrutinizing the boy. H

His eyes widened.

Leaning back, he gave Thirrin a careful sidelong glance. "Thirrin," he started cautiously, "I don't _think_ that the boy is a threat."

Thirrin breathed out deeply in relief.

"I said I don't think so," the warlock repeated. "But, he has an aura of strong magic."

"What?"

"An aura of strong magic, I said. He's either a warlock like me, or he's more than a warlock."

"What do you mean, more than a warlock?" echoed the flame-haired monarch.

Ignoring Thirrin's comment, Oskan ordered, "Open the gates!"

He'd gotten used to using his authority to his advantage.

Obediently, the gates began to open, creaking and shuddering, the ice and snow that had gathered all over it cracking and falling down in showers. Most of it landed on Hitsugaya, who shook it off wearily, and taking small mincing steps, for his feet were stinging even more than ever, he walked into the ever so foreign city of Frostmarris.

* * *

Thirrin almost flew down the battlement stairs, her robes rustling as she took large strides. She wanted to know exactly who the boy was, what he was, and what he was doing before he came here. Oskan's cryptic words had unsettled her, and she was not easily unsettled after the battle with the Polypontians. Plus, she had to keep in mind that the boy could be a spy sent by the Corsairs and Zephyrs. She heard rumors of them employing youngsters to do their dirty work for them and scout around.

"You are in the presence of Her Royal Highness Queen Thirrin Freer Strong-In-the-Arm Lindenshield, Wildcat of the North," Thirrin called out Hitsugaya. "State your name and business with Frostmarris."

Oskan winced. Thirrin was in full Queen mode, but he acknowledged that she was in _almost_ full control of the situation. _Almost_, because her ears were red, and it was such a bright red that he knew that it was from anxiety. Probably because the boy was a stranger and looked quite…unusual, with his outlandish garb.

Hitsugaya drew himself up to his full height, an 'impressive' 4 feet 4 inches. First impressions were important, he supposed, judging by the way the girl held herself upon seeing him.

"I am Toushirou Hitsugaya*, and I prefer to be addressed as Hitsugaya. I mean no harm, all I require is shelter for the night. If my presence here in your city is disturbing, I will set off first thing in the morning," he said with a respectful bow. But he regretted it the next instant, since it sent to blood to his head and made him feel dizzy.

Thirrin was surprised by the deep, mature voice, and even more so by the boy's eyes.

They seemed to glow an eerie blue-green in the night, standing out in the shadows.

Clearing her throat, she said, trying to mask the fact that she was unnerved, "Very well, you will get shelter. Come with us." With that, she whirled around and headed back up the stairs, but abruptly stopped when Oskan gave a shout of alarm.

Hitsugaya had sunken into the snow, wincing at the impact with his knees. For a moment there he thought he was going to give into the blackness that had just started lurking at the corner of his mind.

Thirrin then got a clear glance at the extent of wounds on Hitsugaya, and stifled what would have been a shriek of surprise. Two massive gashes were on his back. His feet were torn and ragged, and she saw a large slash down his side as well. She had thought the wounds were light, from the top of the wall, for she assumed only his feet were bleeding.

Oskan rushed to assist the boy, but still as proud as a dragon, Hitsugaya merely waved the warlock off.

"I'm fine," he announced quietly, gruffly standing up again, firmly planting his feet on the ground and ignoring the stabs of lightning he felt running up his legs.

"You need healing," Oskan retorted gently, ignoring Hitsugaya's growl and he grabbed his elbow and attempted to steer him up the stairs.

Wrenching his elbow out of Oskan's grasp, Hitsugaya insisted, "I am absolutely fine." Oskan knew this was a flat out lie. But seeing as the boy was forever unrelenting, he shook his head in exasperation.

"Fine, follow us. We'll take you to your quarters." Oskan felt like being brusque at the moment; his head hurt from lack of sleep.

Thirrin and Oskan both turned and headed up the stairs, Hitsugaya following along just a bit slower.

The tensai cursed the stairs as they made their way up, the on his legs tingling. The steps were incredibly slushy, made up of melted snow and dirt. He didn't mind the snow, but the dirt got in his wounded feet and made his head ring from the pain. He gritted his teeth, and continued devising a very gory plan that consisted of Ryuusenka, torture devices, and a squad of very unfortunate Senkai Gate guards.

* * *

The housecarls waited in anticipation for the source of the ruckus to come up. A head of fire-gold appeared, then Oskan's, and then a tuft of pure white. They had not only seen everything between the Queen and the kid, but also heard everything.

As the threesome passed by, the sentries all winced involuntarily. Hitsugaya Toushirou's wounds looked even more serious up close.

Sneaking a peek at Captain Magnus, Timor was surprised to see that Magnus was not paying any attention at all, staring blankly before him. There was no doubt that this activity would have been forgotten by him as the morning came along, he thought spitefully.

A sharp pain in his side brought Timor out of his momentary reverie.

Jackson had elbowed the blond teenager.

"What was that for?!"

"The b- Hitsugaya is staring at us, fool," Jackson whispered nervously out of the corner of his mouth.

Hitsugaya was. He'd stopped just outside of the door Thirrin and Oskan passed through, emerald orbs pinning the two down, having identified them as the two clearest voices out of those that had asked for hospitality rather than hostility.

Timor and Jackson gulped. His eyes were as cold as steel that had been left out in the snow for weeks.

Then the boy said the unexpected.

"Thank you."

Jackson blinked. Timor's jaw clacked open, displaying all of his teeth, spinach lodged behind his molar completely visible.

"Wha-what?" the twosome chorused, confused.

The boy's eyes closed. They both relaxed; it was like a very bright light being turned off. Sort of like the sun, but green-blue.

"Thank you for defending me on the wall earlier." Noticing their confusion, the white-haired boy decided to elaborate. "I heard you saying that I should be let in. Thank you."

Adding a polite nod to accentuate his gratification, Hitsugaya hobbled off to join Thirrin and Oskan, head swimming again and regretting every move he made that night.

An owl hooted in the background.

Captain Magnus was the first one to regain the use of speech, the slamming of the thick fortress door snapping him out of his blank expression.

"Men," he droned, clapping his hands for attention, "Clean up the bloody mess." Giving the bloody footprints an elaborate wave, he added, "Change of guard after the mess is cleaned."

Radiating arrogance, the haughty officer swept off, spotted fur cape giving his exit a dramatic feel.

Jackson cursed. "Shit, I hate that man," he spat out, glaring daggers at Captain Magnus's back.

The men agreed loudly.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

This is the weirdest crossover ever, seriously. I don't know where this came from~

Haha! Yes. Um, first off, some of you might be like, "You should put Hitsugaya Toushirou!" Well, I just thought that it'd be better that way, so the other characters in the story would realize that Hitsugaya was his last name and Toushirou was his first. Oh, and Timor, Jackson, Eodur, and Magnus are all OC's; I didn't know the names of too many young soldiers in the army, haha.


	2. Loud Ringing and Acceptances

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Italics are flashbacks, italics AND underlined words are for over the phone and in Japanese, just underlined words are for Japanese.

(Rewritten 2/10/09)

* * *

Declaimer: I do not own Bleach nor The Cry of the Icemark, but I own this storyline.

**-2-**

**Loud Ringing and Acceptances**

Thirrin paced around Oskan's room, heavy boots thumping on the soft red carpet, muttering to herself. Flames danced merrily in the hearth, oblivious to the distress of the person stomping back and forth before them, wringing her hands.

The large, spacious living quarter had only a few furnishings. A silver broadsword was strapped above the hearth, a comfortable bed sat in the corner. A few set of drawers were placed alongside the walls, and seven plump armchairs were scattered about the room in a random sort of fashion. Classy ceiling-high windows were hidden behind maroon curtains, and a young warlock, still wearing yesterday's robes and very stinky socks, worriedly watched the Queen.

Thirrin had been unable to sleep last night due to the stranger that they'd found. Or, to be more precise, they met.

Hitsugaya was a walking enigma.

First off, he'd refused to receive any first-aid treatment, saying he could heal himself later after he rested a bit, and that all that he needed was a lot of gauze. Those had been granted for him, and he'd been stationed in the room next to Oskan's so an eye could be kept on him. They'd also let him borrow some of their clothes, taking his foreign outfit and promising that it'd just be cleaned and would be given back to him the next day. The white-haired mystery seemed to be baffled at their hospitality.

"…_I only asked for shelter for one night!" insisted the boy as they pushed him into the room to let him get changed. "It's hospitality," said Thirrin, but Oskan sensed uncertainty lacing her tone, and the boy could see that as well._

Hitsugaya had also been allowed to keep his weapon after he stubbornly refused to let anyone touch it. Thirrin had relented and declared that is was alright for him to keep it, seeing as they'd get nowhere that night if they kept trying to get him to hand it over.

Subsequently, two hours after the arrival, Oskan burst into her bedroom brandishing a crumpled letter like it was a weapon.

The letter had stated that_ it_ happened again.

When the warriors of the Icemark had first begun to battle the Corsairs and Zephyrs, things had looked bright for them. They'd pushed their opponents out of Icemark territory, farther and farther back in only three weeks. Morale ran high and only fourteen people were killed in that month.

However, the Corsairs and Zephyrs had turned the tables on them with allies.

These allies were absolutely out of the normal, complete with pieces of white bone attached to them. They'd move faster than the eye could keep up, and could take care of single regiments with only a few choice moves.

Their level of power was simply suffocating.

"_The Snow Leopards were nearly annihilated in one attack, Queen Thirrin," read a shaking messenger. "…Human casualties a few thousand, dead uncounted for, Vampire forces withdrawing to heal and severely depleted, we need more conversions… the Werefolk are regrouping, but many regiments are still staying… the house of the Bloodsucker werewolves is completely obliterated… we have only taken around 15 of these spies out, ma'am, and we lost all those who did so, their wounds were beyond our healing techniques…__"_

But this was the least of their problems, for at least the terrifying enemies could be killed and harmed, proven by Captain Magnus, who used to be an unranked member of the fyrd. He'd sneaked up behind one of the human-like monsters, and removed its head with one fell swoop. Magnus was one of the only few that had managed to do so singlehandedly and survive.

Two months had passed since the Corsairs and Zephyrs made their last attack, for the snows froze the waters they were used to fighting on, and the mountain passes and trails were long covered by huge snow drifts.

No, _it_ was an entirely different problem.

After the allies of their foes arrived, spies disguised as soldiers of the fyrd began turning on the regiments, revealing their true identity, and blowing up entire sections with the same insane power the opposite displayed, except they didn't have piece of bone attached to them. Only witches and warlocks usually were any match if any, and only a few of these spies had been killed.

It was horrible, and unpredictable, for the soldiers that betrayed them were usually well-known and had displayed their fighting prowess in previous wars. The traitors were always veterans of the previous battles, and they'd been _trusted_. And now it happened again, towards the North. The Basilea had lost a few of her newest and finest archers, though the traitor had been killed with a swift shot to the base of the neck.

Who to trust and who to not trust, she didn't know anymore!

Thirrin choked back her tears.

This was a problem she knew she had to solve on her own with her advisors Oskan and Maggiore Totus, and it had to be fast.

It was now nearing the end of January; they'd started fighting in August, when the sun was warm and weather perfect for training. The girl Queen knew her time to get down to the bottom of this matter was limited to one month. The fighting would start in March, when the snows melted and new life began. But who to send to scout? If she sent someone who was a spy for the opposing people, she'd be condemning innocent people!

And now there was this new boy to worry about. What if he was to become another one of those traitors? What if this was another ploy to destroy the Icemark's defenses from the inside even more? But what if he was innocent? Who were they to judge the workings of the world?

"Aggghhh!" Thirrin shouted, frustrated beyond what she could voice. "I don't know anymore! I just don't know anymore! What if the generals are _all_ traitors? What am I supposed to do now? But I need to share battle plans with them! How am I supposed to trust anyone now?"

Oskan watched her, genuinely concerned. "Thirrin."

"…and there's that boy next door. We've stationed guards to patrol by these halls. He's just a boy, but what if?! What if he's like all of them! What if he's…"

Thirrin was stopped by Oskan's comforting touch on her arm. "Thirrin," he repeated, eyes gentle but grip strong. "It's okay. We can interrogate him later; surely he's obligated to answer, as he's imposing on our hospitality. It's okay," he said again, leading her to a seat and firmly seating her down. She did not resist at all.

"If he's somehow connected to all this, then perhaps he may help. And," the warlock added tactfully, eyes glinting, "He might be a new ally, no?"

Thirrin perked up. "Yeah… yeah! He might! Thank you Oskan!" she squealed, grabbing him into a hug. "You always know how to make me feel much better!"

Oskan stiffened at her touch.

Thirrin felt a weird tingling come over her spine.

Oskan fixed his gaze on Thirrin's face, shadowed, mysterious, and beautiful in the firelight. The fire played on her hair, making it shine, her steel-grey eyes now slightly scared and uncertain. "What…" she whispered.

Their faces drew closer, slowly, delicately.

Then a loud ringing came from next door.

=RING RING RING RING RING RING RING RING RING RING=

The spell was broken as three distinct crashes and a hassled voice went "Gah! Ack! Shit..!" The clanking of the patrol guards' boots echoed in the hall, and they were obviously heading in the direction of the ring.

=RING RING RING RING RING RING RING RING RING RING=

Oskan cleared his throat awkwardly, and turned his face sideways to mask his facial expression.

"Ah… shouldn't we be… going?" He cursed inwardly as his voice cracked and went up to a high pitch. What was he about to do? Heck, what were _they_ just going to do?!

Thirrin nodded slowly. "Yeah," she declared purposefully, now in her full Queen persona, "Let's go, Oskan Witch's Son." Her face was turned in the opposite direction, hiding her bright red blush as she headed to the door.

She didn't notice Oskan's face could put tomatoes to shame as well.

* * *

Hitsugaya understood how he came to be in this awkward situation as he stared at the Queen and her advisor framed in the door of his living quarters, not to mention a horde of guards as well.

He twitched.

The explanation was simple. He'd been immersed in his sleep, talking seriously to Hyourinmaru about his current predicament, when, to his consternation, his Spirit Phone started shrilly proclaiming a call had come to him. It had surprised him so much he'd tumbled out of bed, hit the desk drawer next to him, causing it to fall down on him, and rolled to a stop against the wall in what everyone recognized as the third crash.

So here he was, feet up the wall, a drawer resting precariously on his head, his blanket wrapped around his waist, preventing further movement, and that blasted Spirit Phone still ringing its head off. He was also absolutely certain that an absurd look of shock was on his face. Oh, how glad he was that Matsumoto wasn't here. He'd never get the end of this for months.

At least they didn't have Polaroid cameras here.

Cursing, he ripped his gaze off the unlikely group in front of him and struggled to untangle himself from the mess. "Ack," he muttered, as he got himself even more tangled up in the mess, drawer falling off of his head with a loud boom. "Damn it," he cried at last, for it appeared that he couldn't get out of this mess anytime soon to pick up the call, "Can someone help me?!"

And to his utter horror and humiliation, the guards at the door burst out laughing.

Thirrin and Oskan joined in not too soon after. The patrol's laughter was infectious.

* * *

As soon as Hitsugaya managed to wriggle his way out of the mess, no thanks to the people that were laughing so hard at the door that they were unable to move, he rummaged through the pile of things that were disrupted upon his fall. He soon located the Spirit Phone, which had stopped ringing a few seconds before he discovered it. It was trapped underneath the drawer that he'd banged his head on. He heard the person on the other end of the phone start to leave a message.

Hitsugaya visibly stiffened and froze. He'd never expected _this_ person to call him.

Of all people, why Hinamori?

"_Hi-Hitsugaya-kun. A-are you there? Ah, s-sorry, of course not. Otherwise, I wouldn't be leaving this message, r-right?__"_

She gave a soft laugh. Hitsugaya had regained movement, but he made no move to stop Hinamori in the middle of leaving her message. He could still pick up and talk to her, but he didn't. Why was his mind was endlessly repeating, 'Don't pick up, don't pick up!'?

The icy captain knew he was afraid.

The people behind him could not see his face, and gods- was he ever so grateful that they couldn't. Weakness couldn't be shown to complete strangers. And he didn't just know his face must be twisted with hurt and uncertainty- his insides churned as well.

The group behind him had long stopped laughing and listened to the foreign words they could not understand.

_"__I-I'm sorry for what I said to you the other day…You are not a murderer, or a liar…I don't know what came over me…__"_

Her voice dwindled off, and she mumbled a few incoherent words, and then her trembling tone came back again.

_"__B-but, Hitsugaya-kun, I volunteered to give you this message from the sou-taicho. H-he said to tell you that Arrancars broke in and sealed the Senkai gates... and that you are unable to return…until they break the seal…which… which will be in a while, t-the seal was that strong…__"_

A lull in her one sided conversation.

_"__Hitsugaya-kun, when you come back, we'll smash watermelons together like before, okay? I-I am going to try to stand up on m-my own feet a-again, and w-when I do, I want you to be there to watch me. I also wanted to tell you that…that I think I knew that Aizen-t-taicho… No! I meant, AIZEN -he's not a taicho anymore- was…a traitor all along…I didn't want to face the truth, b-but! After the last conversation we had… I will stand on my feet again… thank you Hitsugaya-kun… and sorry for causing you so much pain…ah. I'm rambling again, bleh, I ramble too much- waaah!! ITAI!__"_

Hitsugaya could hear the thumping of several feet.

_"__O-oi, Hinamori! Are you okay? Ack, you're still as clumsy as ever!__" _Abarai Renji.

_"__Hinamori-kun! Eh, Abarai! Don't handle her so roughly!__"_ Kira Izuru.

_"__Eheheh! Ah, I thought I'd stopped being so clumsy!__"_ Hinamori's laugh came in from the other end. It was happy. He closed his eyes, basking in the sound. She never laughed like that for him anymore.

_"__Haha! Eheheh, s-sorry Hitsugaya-kun, did I scare you there? I just tripped over myself again, silly me…or maybe I tripped over the floorboards… or I tripped over… myself? Well, I have to go now, see you then..? I'll miss you… I'm going to go make sure the Seal-Breakers do a good job so you can get back faster…__"_

Before Hinamori hung up, he swore he could hear her laugh again.

Silence wafted in the room and stayed there as Hitsugaya stood, unmoving.

Hyourinmaru, for once, did not have a comment to make him feel better.

* * *

In the silence that followed, Thirrin's suspicions nearly threw her over the edge. What was the thing that was spouting out voices? It seemed like something the Polypontians would have, with all of their technology. She was the first to break the tight and heavy silence.

"What is that?" she said harshly. "Is that Polypontian? Are _you_ Polypontian?"

At the sound of Polypontian, all the guards shifted into a defensive position. Timor's hand strayed to his sword's hilt, hand tightening on it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jackson with his axe at the ready.

"No, I am not Polypontian," Hitsugaya sighed, feeling them move behind him, no doubt to defensive positions. Whoever the Polypontians were, they were obviously the Icemark's nemesis.

Turning around, he commented, "If you think I am lying, think again. I am in a room surrounded by armed soldiers and a Queen. Not to mention a warlock. Also, this is a…communication device that I use to reach the land I come from." Hitsugaya raised the silver object in his hand.

Oskan made a convulsive movement. "Hitsugaya," he began calmly, voice on a rough edge, "I will believe you when you say that you are not Polypontian. However, that object came up in my research as a recent Polypontian discovery. Care to explain how you got that?"

"This object was invented by my land about three or two centuries ago. Apparently your Polypontians' discovery is not really much of a discovery at all," Hitsugaya noted dryly. Of course, he knew that the phone was 'discovered' recently in this dimension, a long time after the most advanced world in all of the dimensions created it.

Oskan felt slightly put out. Like the diminutive genius stated, anyone would be incredibly stupid to lie when they were outnumbered. He decided to press further. "And the message?"

"Ah. The message." Hitsugaya's face was stiff again. "My… friend was just calling to tell me about the Senkai Gates getting locked. She also got sentimental after telling me that I cannot return for a few days, and apologized for her behavior."

Several of the guards backed out of the room, feeling that this conversation was rather personal. The only patrol members left were Timor and Jackson, who deemed that no matter how personal, this situation something worth listening to.

"Senkai Gate?" mouthed Jackson, giving Timor a confused glance. Timor just shrugged and returned his gaze to the boy in the middle of the room, who looked slightly uncomfortable.

"Sen…kai Gate? What is that?" Thirrin and Oskan echoed Jackson's thoughts.

"Gateways used to provide transportation back to my land. There is no other way except for that," Hitsugaya offered helpfully. Of course, you could die, but Hitsugaya didn't feel like elaborating on that, because he'd probably be branded as a monster. There was a slight chance he'd reveal everything to them later. But for now, he preferred to sit and look at how things would turn out.

"And since they're locked," he huffed, folding his arms, "I cannot return. Seeing as you people are struggling with something stressing, I will not bother you any further. All I need are my clothes from yesterday and I will be on my way. I'll find a place to stay _somewhere_."

Thirrin's entire figure tensed. "How did you know we are struggling with something?"

Hitsugaya shrugged nonchalantly. "I read your body language. I could determine your mood and everything along those lines from the way your body reacted and held itself."

Jackson choked. "Odin, reading body movements. What's going to happen next, the dead walking amongst the living again?" the brown-haired soldier joked laughingly, elbowing Timor, who gave a half-hearted laugh.

The tensai had a very strange look on his face. "You have amazing perception."

* * *

Running a hand through her thick red-gold hair, Thirrin watched Hitsugaya hold a conversation with the man who'd commented on the boy's ability. She'd heard of people who could tell whether you were lying or not by just a glance and much, much more, but she'd never had the chance to meet someone like that before. And, sneaking a peek at Oskan, he had not either.

Oskan had been surprisingly silent after he'd questioned the boy about his friend. The Wildcat of the North could almost see the wheels and cogs of his brilliant mind sorting all the information, cataloguing it, and throwing away the unimportant tidbits. Now, his normally warm gaze was sharp and chip.

If she remembered properly, the footsoldier that was talking to Hitsugaya was called Jackson Paters, one of those that had sighted the boy on the wall yesterday. The other she knew to be called Timor. He lost his last name, for his parents had committed an unspeakable crime and had been executed. He had dropped his last name in shame.

But returning to the current matter at hand, she pondered the idea of reading body language and its benefits.

It would be extremely useful when detecting liars, Thirrin acknowledged. She also admitted that she'd need all the help she could get to find the moles planted within her own people. Hitsugaya could be an essential but temporary asset to her military. There was an issue of trusting him or not, but in return for his services, living quarters and food would be provided. It was a fair enough trade, and the boy looked pretty honorable for what she had seen of him (which was little, but she discarded the fact recklessly. The Icemark was in need, and the Queen had to take this chance.)

Thirrin knew exactly what to do.

* * *

"Hitsugaya."

The person addressed recognized the voice to belong to the Queen.

"Yes, Queen Thirrin?" Hitsugaya picked up smoothly. He believed he should show proper respect- she was obviously the head of the country.

The girl took a very deep and long breath.

Hitsugaya just patiently waited.

She opened her mouth once or twice, no sound coming out. Apparently she was searching for the right words to say. Then, she sighed irritably.

"You are efficient with the sword, I take it?"

Hitsugaya replied almost immediately, "Yes."

"And you are very confident of your capabilities of being able to tell whether someone is lying or not?"

"Yes." He could vaguely see where this conversation was heading.

"Are you good at piecing together information to solve a problem?"

"Undoubtedly." Of course he was, he was in charge of the Intelligence Division back in Soul Society. Those abilities were vital to his job.

"I have an offer for you." She stated, eyes boring into his. Hitsugaya was surprised that the Queen could hold his gaze, but he kept his emotions hidden, making sure that his eyes were just fathomless, empty wells.

"What is the offer?"

"In return for your help with a… certain predicament, we will provide a place for you to stay and food for you to eat."

Hitsugaya could see that the girl had not consulted anyone else yet; the startled glances that everyone else in the room had given her was just enough to give her away.

"And if I refuse?" he wanted to know.

"Then you have no shelter, no food for the time being, and my entire country's welfare will be in jeopardy."

The flame-haired teenager looked like she was at the brink of abandoning the world forever and retiring to a secluded den in the middle of nowhere.

"Hitsugaya, we really, really need your help."

Thirrin held her breath in the quiet that followed immediately after.

Hitsugaya closed his eyes, scowl deepening as he weighed his choices.

Go along with this person and her impromptu plan: 99.999999 percent.

Getting someone to offer him shelter for the duration of his stay: 0.000001 percent.

He sighed, and massaged his forehead.

It seemed like he really had no choice anyway.

Reopening his sea-green eyes, the sharp orbs lasered their way through Thirrin's head and out the back of it.

"I accept your offer, Queen Thirrin of the Icemark."

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Erm, about the cellphone thing, I know that the Icemark is more of a Renaissance place, but in the second book it seemed as if the rest of the world was progressing, with machine guns and air balloons, but the Icemark was at a standstill. So the Icemark will be at a standstill here, does that work out?

Please review XD


	3. Miracles: Reversion to Soul Society

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Alright, reversion to Soul Society for a bit! It got really tense back in the Icemark; this is just to relieve the tension. The Japanese words aren't underlined or anything, because everything in this chapter is practically Japanese, and Oskan, Thirrin and the rest of the troop in the Icemark don't appear. I just wanted to get a bit of Soul Society's view on everything and to get a bit more time to plan the chapter where everything is revealed, because it's going to be a bit hard to write everything. Ack.

* * *

Declaimer: I do not own Bleach nor The Cry of the Icemark, but I own this storyline. (For some reason, I think this part is getting old. Really, really old. Don't you agree? Must come up with something more creative.)

**-Miracles-**

Back in Soul Society, it was pandemonium. Squadrons of kido-specialists were swarming all over the place, teams of them taking turns trying to remove the seals the Arrancars had placed on the Senkai Gates. The attack on Soul Society had really shaken them up.

Of course, it was really quite easy to do so these days, for Seireitei had not completely recovered from the Winter War yet. Not to mention, several of the weaker-willed shinigami were feeling incredibly antsy. Sou-taicho Yamamoto had been quite angry indeed. And who wouldn't be, with one of the heroes of the War put out of action because some lazy Guards had let a bloody horde of Arrancar into Seireitei? But the worst part was that when Yama-jii's not happy, no one's happy.

Everyone except for Matsumoto Rangiku, that is.

For once, ever since the Winter War, she had something to do. Her little taicho had been hogging all the paperwork, and letting her take many days off. He wanted to drown himself, to immerse himself in the work. Hitsugaya-taicho's supposed best victory had been soured by Hinamori's misery and anguish. But now, her Captain was gone. He needed a break, and the whole of Soul Society knew that it would take a really big problem to keep the icy prodigy from his office. And a _miracle_ happened.

Matsumoto silently thanked the undutiful Senkai Gate Guards and prayed for their safety upon her captain's return.

Now, the office was filled with immense piles and piles of data for the Intelligence Division to catalogue, keep track of, and stamp.

She felt almost giddy.

Everyone knew that the lazy fukutaicho normally would have slacked off on the work with her captain gone, but right now, she needed something like paperwork to suffocate herself in.

Evidently, sake used to help her cope with her problems, but ever since she saw Gin leaving the battlefield, running away as soon as Aizen's head was swiped clean off, rolling on the pavement of the Replacement Karakura…

Well, you could say it just lost its bittersweet taste.

So, to everyone else's shock, here she was, sitting at the 10th Division's administrative desk, scribbling away like there was no tomorrow. Yumichika had fallen into what he would describe as "a beautiful swoon" when he saw her working. And Ikkaku's expression- she wouldn't and couldn't stop laughing about it every time she thought about it. It looked so…twisted and weird and bug-eyed and unlike Ikkaku. No, there was nothing she wouldn't do to see that face again.

As for Kira- well, Kira did what he always did best. He panicked, and attempted dragging her to the 4th to see whether Kurotsuchi-taicho slipped anything into her drink. But Matsumoto remained firmly glued to her seat. She'd only taken a few breaks to eat, go to the restroom, and visit Hisagi, who was in a coma and doing badly. Even Sasakibe Choujiro-san, the quiet and nearly invisible fukutaicho of the 1st division, had taken action. He kept on informing her that a lot of the chaos in Soul Society was caused by her as well, pupil-less eyes attempting to stare her down.

Not to the general surprise, she reacted in the way everyone one else wouldn't have-

She laughed.

Of course, Matsumoto also did the work for the hope that her taicho would be pleased at her dedication when he came back. Speaking of dedication, she thought it was rather lucky that the young prodigy had memorized every single language of every dimension in the three years after Aizen's demise. Now, his impeccable memory would come into play, seeing as he was stuck in a foreign world. Matsumoto was not worried that he might have missed a language. The Great Spirit Library was very useful, and Hitsugaya had quite a lot of time to spend after he finished off all his paperwork.

"_It's a distraction, Matsumoto. Sort of what your sake does for you, except it doesn't come with…unlikable side-effects."_

But there was an ulterior motive to her workaholic state.

Was it so bad, wanting to see him grin again?

Even though Matsumoto spent the most time with Hitsugaya, she wasn't pleased to say that she only saw him smile twice.

Once, when he had been talking to Hinamori, who just woke up from her coma (she'd peeked through the crack in the door) and once, when the War had ended and he found out that everyone he cared about was safe and alive.

His smile was drop-dead gorgeous.

Mildly put.

When he'd smiled after the Winter War, it had caused pretty much every female Shinigami within sight to fall head over heels in love.

Thus began the Hitsugaya Toshiro Fan Club, partnered up with the Kurosaki Ichigo Fan Club, Abarai Renji Fan Club, Hisagi Shuuhei Fan Club, Kuchiki Byakuya Fan Club, and much, much more.

Chuckling, Matsumoto brushed back a few stray hairs, smoothed down the sleeves of her hakama, and pushed a pile of finished paperwork to the side. Her taicho was _so_ dense, not noticing girls watching him from every corner, eyes glowing in the shadows. Even _Ichigo-kun_ was smart enough to notice the attention he was receiving from the female shinigami, and _that_ was saying something.

The busty fukutaicho shuddered. _She_ noticed, and it sent prickly shivers down her spine. It wasn't fun, having jealous girls ferociously glaring at her each time she walked down the halls with him.

A small smirk tweaking her lips, she hauled another towering mountain of papers over to Hitsugaya's desk, picked up a brush, dipped it in ink, and restarted her work with gusto.

* * *

Meanwhile, at the 11th Division, Yumichika and Ikkaku were cooling off in the shade of an oak tree, its branches fanning out across the sky and catching wisps of low-laying clouds.

Ikkaku was feeling very, very lazy. The entire morning so far had consisted of trying to get some of the new female Academy students and recruits to notice him, showing off his chiseled biceps and six-pack in a way he thought was inconspicuous. Subsequently, he'd volunteered to help out a group of good-looking girls with the seals, but they wouldn't let him. And no wonder- he wasn't good with kido and barely knew any incantations anyways.

Yes, the man who would have normally cared less about the girls was feeling _lonely_.

But, it turned out that all the women were more interested in the face than the muscles. The third seat of the most violent division was shocked, because Zaraki Kenpachi-taicho had been so pitifully wrong.

"_Ikkaku," the much admired warrior had slyly declared, "The girls always go for the muscles. Kid, go get a six-pack. Trust me."_

Casting a glance out of the corner of his eye, he didn't understand what everyone else saw in Ayasegawa Yumichika that wasn't in him. No duh Yumichika was girly, but around all the ladies he was all _macho-man_. Ikkaku was far more macho than Yumichika, seriously. Alright, Yumichika was good-looking, he won on that trait. The hairless chap wasn't stupid, really. But confused as he was, Ikkaku was certain the girls went for more than the appearance as well. Well, fine, Yumichika could be charming when he felt like it, witty when he wanted to, and funny if he decided it was a good time to crack a joke- b-b-but wait! Didn't they see his _creepiness_? Like, how oddly _feminine_ and _sensitive_ he was?

The Captain-candidate was slightly envious. Slightly envious, mind you.

Yumichika delicately fixed his hair. "Ikkaku," he sighed, "What should we do today?"

He snorted as his friend's flowery tones floated to him. "I don't know," he said sarcastically, "Maybe we could go off and visit another friggin' pediatrician? Or go to another beauty salon and beat up the manicurist because he called you _gay_?"

Hey, he was feeling nasty right now.

The bob-haired man lifted up his head indignantly and sniffed huffily. "That is because I don't look gay, you unbecoming dunce."

"Dunce? Who's a goddamned dunce, you bob-haired narcissist?!"

"Narcissist? I'm sorry, but I don't see how _beautiful me_ can be a narcissist."

"You just demonstrated the meaning of 'narcissist,' narcissist!"

"Oh, my beautiful ears ignored that. Why should I listen to a bald-"

Ikkaku twitched convulsively.

"Ugly-"

An eerie black aura began surrounding said bald ugly man, shadowing his face.

"Shiny, moon-like pachinko ball head," Yumichika finished with a grand flourish.

The damage had been done a long, long time ago.

Madarame Ikkaku slowly unsheathed Houzukimaru with an intimidating shhkkk sound.

"Yumichika…you're dead…"

* * *

Matsumoto paused in the middle of her writing. She was absolutely certain she heard Yumichika screaming bloody murder at the top of his lungs, and she knew it was no joke when she felt Ikkaku and Houzukimaru's reiatsu rise far, far above normal.

Nonetheless, Matsumoto thought smilingly, even if Yumichika seemed like he was in really big trouble, it didn't concern her. Served the pretty-boy right, whatever he did. Shaking her head, she speedily resumed her work, accidentally spraying ink left and right.

Her taicho's desk was going to be super messy when he came back.

* * *

"I _told_ you, I want to work on the Gates."

"B-but, Hinamori-fukutaicho!" stuttered a wiry shinigami with a severe case of acne, "I-I'm afraid you aren't- aren't…" A glint appeared in the shinigami's eyes as he finished, trembling, "…_Sane_ enough, really…"

"_SANE enough_? Listen, _seventh seat_, I am one of the most accomplished kido users in the whole of Seireitei, and once the third seat of the kido corps specially designed for kido experts. Now, I am a _fukutaicho_, and I demand to be let onto this Gate!"

"A-ah, yes, b-but-"

"But _what_?" argued a female shinigami with long brown tresses. "Listen, do you want to be murdered in your sleep? A million of these girls in Seireitei want Hitsugaya-taicho back, so you need all the help you can get!"

"A-ah, yes, erm, I am very sure you are correct about that," mumbled the male, fingers fumbling as he tried to push his glasses back up, "B-but, I assure you, y-your presence would- I mean, Unohana-taicho would not want to s-see you up and about so early, of course, erm, and-"

Hinamori Momo was feeling ticked off.

Really, really ticked off. Which she normally never was these days. Heck, she wasn't easily ticked off in the past anyway.

But this was an entirely different matter.

Why did everyone have to handle her delicately like glass? Why did they all treat her with so much sympathy and wariness in their eyes?

Oh, sure she'd been locked up in the infirmary for the past three and a half years, wallowing in her self pity and tears, not paying any mind to those around her. Hinamori knew she'd been being incredibly selfish, causing pain for everyone she'd considered a friend, and she was determined to make up for it. She pitched in whenever she could with the kido-specialists, who looked shocked and surprised to see her practically like she used to be, except she had a hard, unmovable fire in her eyes now, burning and burning.

Oh, and she'd also yelled at her precious Hitsugaya-kun for trying to make her see the truth of it all, spitting out words that she never thought could come from her mouth, regretting them the instant she saw her childhood friend's tired and betrayed expression. That was probably another factor in the reason why everyone treated her like a madwoman.

Seriously, who actually _defended_ Aizen these days?

Although, she'd apologized profusely, and she only could hope that Shiro-chan would forgive her, and come watch her stand on her own two feet again, ready to take on the world.

Hinamori acknowledged that perhaps things may never be the same between them again, but she'd try the hardest to get things back to what they used to be. Back to when they were best friends. Ha, best friends. The word seemed slightly satisfying.

But maybe, just maybe, if Hitsugaya Toshiro would let her, they'd become more.

Yes, she'd loved him from the moment he set foot into Jun'rinran, from his large, clear sea-green eyes to his messy head of white hair. She knew all his favorite places, all his favorite things. But there was always something new to learn about him. Even if she'd been there all throughout his life, she couldn't understand him all the time, wondering about what was going on under his flawless facade of impassiveness.

She was not afraid to admit that she'd stopped loving him as soon as she saw Aizen, and carelessly threw her affection aside, swearing to follow Aizen to the death. She didn't know she'd be eating her words a couple years after she swore this, and now, she was back on track, loving her childhood friend again.

She knew all he felt for her was what one would feel for a childhood friend, for a sister. However, this time Hinamori Momo was determined, and when Hinamori Momo is determined, she will get whatever she wants, give or take a few years.

The reason why she had snapped out of her dream-like depression was because of Matsumoto Rangiku.

As soon as Matsumoto heard about Hinamori being so infuriatingly rude to her captain, she'd flash-stepped the entire way over to the 4th Division and literally slapped some sense into her.

_"Wake up, __**Hinamori-fukutaicho**__! What the hell have you been doing, huh? My GOD, what happened to you? Don't you damned understand, what he's been going through? You soiled his ultimate victory! You made him worry so much that I couldn't even tell if he was the same arrogant, over-confident kid I'd met at the supermarket! Oh my GOD, you IDIOT!" Matsumoto shrieked, her face blotchy red from anger. _

_Then Matsumoto did it- she'd hit Hinamori. "Shit, YOU SHOULD KNOW AS WELL AS I DO THAT HE'S NOT INVINCIBLE! He's not as strong as everyone makes him out to be! It's all killing him! Damn it- JUST STOP pretending he's unbeatable- just freakin' WAKE UP ALREADY!"_

_A hushed silence fell, and a shocked Hinamori Momo sank to the floor, holding her red, swollen cheek._

_Matsumoto was panting, grey-blue eyes blazing with restrained fury, her golden brows furrowed deeply. With a strangled noise of impatience, she stormed out of Hinamori's room, slamming the door behind her, causing it to splinter badly. Outside of the door, Hinamori could hear concerned healers heatedly scolding Matsumoto for the racket. _

_Inside the darkened hospital room, still on the floor, Hinamori felt like a heavy, suffocating blindfold had been removed from her wide eyes._

_"What have I been doing? What…have I been doing?!"_

Finally, the fukutaicho of the 5th division had awoken, and was feeling so alive again.

Her frustration now ebbed away into something like contentedness.

It was strange. Just thinking of her Shiro-chan made her happy. Yes, he was hers. To put it simply, she was now extraordinarily possessive of him. She knew that once someone has been taken from you, forcibly or not, once you get them back, you never want to see their back facing you again.

So Hinamori Momo, in the middle of an intense argument with the shinigami who wouldn't let her help with the breaking down of the seals- because he thought she was still too _fragile_ to be working, but he was going to regret thinking that- viewed the troubled world with clear, firm eyes. Her future was still wobbly and uncertain, but she knew one thing for sure.

She'd never let go of one Hitsugaya Toshiro again.

* * *

_"Unohana-taicho! Taicho! He's twisting again! We need a medication-"_

_"Shuuhei?? What's going on- Hanataro, what's-"_

_"Matsumoto-fukutaicho! I-I'm very sorry, but he is not stable in his coma, you must leave-"_

_"S-Shuuhei…"_

_A door slamming._

_Burning on the inside of his eyelids._

Blackness.

Hisagi Shuuhei dreamed of nothing and no one. It was a deep, motionless darkness. Hisagi was not frightened, because the dark was actually slightly comforting. He could not hear his zanpakutou over the endless roaring in his ears.

Hisagi wasn't scared of that.

He couldn't feel his hands or feet, or see and smell.

Hisagi wasn't terrified of that either.

He could sense a voice calling. The sensation echoed in the blackness of Hisagi's comatose status. But he couldn't hear it. He just knew, and unknown hands grasped the numbness, the emptiness that composed his existence.

It was this awareness that made Hisagi scream in the darkness for release.

He struggled endlessly, his mind fighting all the while.

But at the same time, Hisagi Shuuhei dreamed of nothing and no one.

* * *

In front of a brilliant white tomb located on Soukyou Hill, Ukitake Jyuushirou stood solemnly with Ise Nanao.

They did not talk. Their feelings were far too overwhelming for them to speak.

Ukitake coughed heavily. His tuberculosis had been harder on him these days.

In his bony but strong hands, he held an incense burner, grey smoke curling out of it and into the sky, fading away into the blue.

In Nanao's grip, a picture of a happy, grinning man in pink, holding bottles of sake, waved to the viewers. Salty teardrops had splashed onto the image, mottling his left hand and his stomach. But his face was still clear.

Kyouraku Shunsui had been officially dead and gone for two years.

Shunsui had survived the Winter War, true, and managed to kill his opponent as well. But poison from the Arrancar he'd been fighting seeped into his veins.

There was no antidote for it. Unohana and Urahara both tried their hands at it, but to no avail.

The beloved taicho of the 8th division passed away on the 26th of January, surrounded by his friends and loved ones. His last words had been directed at Ukitake: _"I'll see you again, Jyuu-chan."_ His attempt at humor had not been missed, but as soon as he sighed and closed his eyes, Ise Nanao's stoic face dropped and she burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably over his body.

She had not talked to anyone for the next few months.

But, on the seventh day of July, during one of Ukitake's visits to her in the infirmary, she said her first words in a long time. _"Kyouraku-taicho's…favorite month…was July, wasn't it? Did he also tell you…that my birthday…was also in July?"_

And she'd cracked a teary, heart-breaking smile, and slowly moved on, taking small steps to recovery.

Ukitake had not, and could not even if he tried.

The death of his best friend took a terrible toll on the white-haired man. He knew he did not have much time left. But, he would hold out and wait for Kyouraku's soul to pop up again, so he could give his best friend his last words: _"I see you again, Shunsui."_

And the process would repeat itself over and over again for eternity. Ukitake Jyuushiro was absolutely certain of it, and decided he wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Ah! Sorry Hisagi-fans and people who wanted to see Hitsugaya's reaction to the situation! But seriously, it was getting so tense that my brain was overheating. Sort of like how the computers react to the heat, no? Anyway, I put Hisagi in a coma because the OC needs to have an opening into the story. Like, I plan to add HisagixOC into it. Yes, I thought a little bit of romance is okay too. And the OC is not one of those precious OC's that authors drag around. Haha, and the Hitsuhina factor...well, I'm not an avid Hitsuhina fan, but I thought it'd be nice to put that in there, right? I hope this chapter wasn't too bad...did this fit everyone's expectations? I have very low self-esteem. As many of you must have noticed by now. All I need is a bunch of tips and yea. Advice is appreciated!


	4. Painkillers

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Ah, yes, back to the Icemark. I am pretty fond of writing about the Soul Society people though, it was fun to mess around. Seriously. Because I thought it would be fun to tweak everything a bit. Haha.

Yazza: well, I just wanted to make Hinamori like him, but Hitsugaya think of her as a friend. In the end, I don't think I'll pair them up; I just kind of want to leave it hanging, because as soon as…ack, I nearly spoiled the end for you people. (Yes, I did plan out a lot of it, but some spots are just…blank, you know?) And I don't want to make Yumichika beat Ikkaku up because according to previous manga chapters no one knows that Yumichika's zanpakutou is a kido type sword.

ObsidianEbony: FINALLY YOU JOINED, MY GOD. I was going to murder you in your sleep if you kept on spending hours deciding on a pen name, seriously. And it is the apocalypse, now that you mention it. Because I updated late. (I usually update every 4 days, and I ruined the pattern!) By the way, nice avatar.

Anyway, thank you **kbookworm3**, **Kimi~chan**, **ObsidianEbony**, **Strawberri**, **Yazza**, and all those people who didn't review but read with me anyway.

A warning: THIS CHAPTER IS EXTREMELY BORING BUT ESSENTIAL SO THAT THE STINKING STORY AND MOVE ON. Haha? I'll update again in about four days again next time, because I got a head start on it.

(Rewritten 2/10/09)

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Declaimer: I do not own Bleach nor The Cry of the Icemark, but I own this storyline. I also do not own Advil (I know, I know, but I felt it was necessary to put this here. You'll see.)

**-Painkillers-**

Oskan watched the white-haired boy intently as Thirrin waved him over to the hearth and bade him to sit down with her.

Emotionless, Oskan thought, slightly amused. Truly and completely without feelings.

The boy's movements were smooth and graceful as he moved towards the fireplace, stepping carefully over the upturned drawers and the messy pile of blankets.

Oskan did not miss the dirty glare he shot at the clutter.

Though Thirrin was quick to trust the child, Oskan personally felt there was more to Hitsugaya than he let on. It was not a happy thought, the Queen's esteemed helper acknowledged, but he had to keep his eyes, ears, and mind wide open to all possibilities, just in case.

It wasn't that he had a grudge against the boy; they had just met! But the boy was different. Very different, and the magical aura around him had a hauntingly chilly yet comforting air to it. Oskan didn't know whether to trust or be wary of Hitsugaya due to the two sides of the atmosphere that hung around him.

But.

If he came across any problems, he'd take care of it all himself, the young warlock decided as he watched Thirrin begin her explanation of the crisis in their country. But for now, he'd just keep going over everything from the sidelines, staying behind the leader of his homeland as support.

Just in case.

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Hitsugaya was surprised, livid, and bewildered, although at the same time, understanding flooded through him. It was a serene emotion compared to the others he sensed. His features were contorted, the usual mask completely removed for the moment.

Gods.

Eyes shuttered, he massaged his forehead forcefully, feeling another migraine like the one he got all the time back in Soul Society coming on. He allowed himself a small, wry smirk. How typical, really.

_"…The allies of the Corsairs and Zephyrs are things that look like people -fine, they are people, just, well, inhuman people- that have weird bone things all over their body. Their power level is simply out of this world, but at least we know they can get killed, but it's only happened once," Thirrin had said worriedly, her eyes glazed over with something equivalent to terror, the sentence rushed._

There was no doubt in Hitsugaya's mind. They were Arrancar. What were they plotting now? What was in this situation that would be beneficial to them?

Damn, the migraine came.

_"…but the worst problem… well, there are spies implanted in our own military. They're just like the bone people, except that they don't have the bones, and their bodies don't change when they use this weird foreign sort of catchphrase. Plus, that catchphrase allows them to unlock all sorts of powers, or so my other advisor, Maggiore Totus, observes."_

Now, these were definitely the other traitor shinigami that Soul Society had failed to find for three years. It seemed that Aizen had moles planted in the Gotei 13 after he showed his true colors, explaining why he always knew what Seireitei was going to attempt next. But, when the twisted schemer died, the shinigami who were a part of Aizen's conspiracy murdered many of their comrades in cold blood, for most of the reprobates were seated officers. Then, they'd fled from the field, following Ichimaru.

Tosen had long been killed by Komamura, who found that Tosen's murky eyes couldn't be washed clean of his misconception and would be better off with a quick death, other than the demise by torture Yamamoto would have almost certainly agreed to.

"Che. It really looks like even if I had refused your offer, I'd get dragged into this anyhow." There was a soft whoosh as he fell back- regally, mind you- onto the poufs of his armchair.

Ah, where were the painkillers when he needed them? He wondered if they had Advil here.

Thirrin blinked.

On second thought, no way would Advil be here.

"What? What do you mean, you'd get dragged into this anyway?"

The snowy-haired boy held up his hands in an effort to remain diplomatic- though his head was beginning to feel like it was tearing his brains out and ripping his eye apart.

"When I… _enlighten_ you, per se, take note that I'm unarmed and that I promised to help you. Also, please abstain from trying to lop off my head while I tell you everything."

"What in the _world_ are you talking about?" Thirrin demanded, leaning forward in her seat.

"I will get to that. First, tell me that you agree to listen this all through."

Thirrin scrutinized the boy for a moment. His hands were still held out almost apologetically, and he looked sincere and in earnest. She turned her keen gaze to Oskan, who was standing in the back. The to-be Witchfather shrugged as Timor and Jackson nodded affirmative, sliding their weapons into their sheaths, Jackson leaning his spear on the frescoed wall.

Turning back to Hitsugaya, she linked her fingers together, letting her chin rest on her knuckles, and set her elbows on her knees. Her eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch with an almost challenging air.

"Alright. But, this better be a reasonable explanation. And don't leave out anything important."

The hero of the Winter War opened his mouth, and though tentatively at first, started to spill out everything from start to finish. The words that left him sounded slightly satisfactory and wholesome.

"Firstly, I am not a human.

(AN: You can skip through this parrrrtt~)

"I am a Shinigami, otherwise known as a Death God or a Soul Reaper. Shinigami are souls that have passed on with an abnormally large amount of reiatsu, or spiritual pressure, and reiyuku, which means spiritual power. Our job is to perform konso on souls of the departed and send them to Soul Society- what you in the Icemark call _Valhalla_.

"But, there are many souls in the world, and we Shinigami cannot perform konso on all of them. The uncooperative, neglected, or earth-bound souls eventually mutate into what we call Hollows.

"Hollows feed on other souls, and it is our job to 'purify' them with our swords by slicing their masks in half and removing all their sins committed during their Hollow condition and sending the original soul to either Soul Society or Hell. However, they can kill many of us in the process, and those with more survival instincts than others rise higher and higher in strength until they may reach the level of a Menos Hollow.

"There are three levels of a Menos: the first level consists of the Gilian, who all look the same and are the foot soldiers of the lot. The second level consists of the Adjuchas, who are smaller and fewer in number, but with far more intelligence. They take care of and control the Gilian. But the third and final level is the most threatening level of all. They are the Vasto Lordes. Vasto Lordes- they are the size of a normal human. They look like humans, but they have broken pieces of bone all over their body."

(AN: Start again~)

Thirrin gave a start. Broken pieces of bone…and…they look like normal humans? Pieces of the puzzle slowly began to slip into place.

Jackson's mouth felt unexpectedly dry. Fear and something close to wariness were etched into his features.

"Dude, this feels weird. Seriously. Scary weird, not the funny weird," the brunette began, his voice cracking in an attempt at humor. "H-however, if you're one of those… shee-knee-gah-me, then…"

A grim stillness hung over the room. Thirrin hovered on the edge of her chair, emotions flitting across her face. Fear, excitement, anxiety, wonder, sadness, greed, longing, pride, skepticism, belief, and something Hitsugaya could not quite place. Love for her lost family…perhaps?

Giving a brisk nod, the Juuban tai taicho answered, "Yes, I am dead."

Hitsugaya wondered if Kuchiki Rukia, now the vice-captain of Ukitake-taicho's division, felt like this when she had attempted to explain everything to Kurosaki Ichigo in the very beginning. If so, he sympathized with her.

A sigh on the tensai's part.

"Continuing on, there is more to your problem than I have told you. Vasto Lordes do not normally make pacts with humans, much less those of your dimension. Their behavior can be explained later. The more serious matter…

"Those spies in your regiments- without a doubt, they are also Shinigami."

In a flash, Thirrin had a slim knife by Hitsugaya's throat, its finely crafted metal blade pressing into his neck, drawing small red beads of blood.

"Did you not agree to refrain from trying to kill me?" Hitsugaya demanded coldly, orbs the color of glacial ice flashing gravely.

"But you are one of them! Don't deny it, you said it already! Will you kill your own kind?! Your own _friends_?!" Thirrin seethed, eyes aflame.

"Did I ever say they were my friends?" he hissed venomously, temperature dropping drastically, fire in the hearth dying out. "You have not let me finish my explanation, _Queen_."

Jackson swore he could see lightning rays of tension crackling in the air (again).

"That is some serious power-play- I mean, is it just me, or does it feel like subzero?" he whispered to Timor, who grunted and elbowed him in the ribs, drawing a squeak.

"Right, it's just me, I'm sorry- I'm sorry, I'll shut up!" Jackson amended hastily as his buddy raised his sharp elbow menacingly again.

Thirrin's hand shook, making her blade waver slightly, and after a few minutes, with a strangled sound of resignation, she flipped the dagger back into its holder. She was still glaring viciously.

"_Thank you_," the young captain ground out. "Restarting from where I was _interrupted_…"

"Your lives are, respectively, tied up in a larger plot, a larger image. This plot…was made centuries and centuries ago, took a long time to place, and was at last put into action three, four years ago.

"This plan…was brought about by a power-hungry man named Aizen Sousuke.

And ignoring the massive pain bearing up in his head, a thick feeling in the back of his throat, he continued with his tale.

Gods, painkillers, _where are you_?

(AN: You can skip this paaaarrrtt toooo~)

_"…Aizen Sousuke…We all trusted him. It was the ultimate deception, the ultimate lie. He betrayed us, murdered the Central 46, and put several taichos, or captains, and fukutaichos, or vice-captains, out of action. He turned them into Hollows as experiments, and Soul Society was affected by the loss for years, for a taicho is the highest rank you can obtain, other than the position in the Royal Guard, which barely anyone knows about. A fukutaicho is the second. To lose several high-ranking officials…is very devastating. But, Aizen did not stop there. He used forbidden arts, and manipulated so many. The girl you heard earlier on the phone is also one of the people he used. Her name is…Momo Hinamori. His fukutaicho. She idolized him. I was too stupid, too ignorant, and didn't notice everything, though I am the taicho of the 10th division…the Intelligence Division. I was supposed to be able to find out! It was my job to. In the end, my suspicions only were half correct."_

_"…Hinamori was run through three millimeters away from the heart. I came a few seconds too late, and when I caught onto the plot, I…attacked him. I was nearly decimated, being sliced with his zanpakutou through the left lung and the right atrium of my heart. There…was nothing I wouldn't do to kill the bastard. And I did kill him. It was…a victory of a lifetime, because he had given all of us so much pain…"_

_"…After he died, several ranked officers who were spies for him in the Gotei 13, our militia system, revealed their secret and killed several of our comrades as well. Comrades that actually trusted them. It was like a massacre, and all of them fled. I will willingly place a bet that those traitors are the exact same ones that are implanted in your army. I am positively sure about it, do not question my judgment." _

_"…We have lost many Shinigami, and our numbers are depleted severely. Now, we're going through Rukongai, the 80 districts where souls live, searching for those with reiyuku and reiatsu, those with enough potential to become the new generation of the Gotei 13 and summon their own zanpakutou. All the Shinigami- to become one or not, the decision- though one may call it a decision, it's really not something you can choose. It just is."_

_"…I suppose now you're wondering what exactly a 'zanpakutou' is, since I've mentioned it once or twice already. It's the type of weapon we use, and no two shinigamis' zanpakutous are the same, even if their names are the same, and even though we all are given the same sword at the start of our training. The zanpakutou develop at different times for the wielders as a spirit similar to your own is summoned into the zanpakutou, and development entirely relies on the wielder's own talents. Most shinigami begin to hear its voice a few years after working with it day after day. Someday later, you may also learn its name. Nonetheless, some never learn their zanpakutou's name, and thus never realize the full extent of their strength. The powers of a zanpakutou also have names, and depending on how strong your bond with your zanpakutou is, you will have many shikai, what we call the normal powers. The only different ability you can obtain is called bankai, an entirely different level from shikai, and mostly all those that have come upon this level are now taichos."_

_"…Going back, do you recall that I said earlier that Vasto Lordes usually never make pacts with humans? The only Vasto Lordes that actually do so are called Arrancar. And yet they are far from being normal ones since Aizen went around and made them, and they are used to having people controlling them. In fact, they are so used to being under a tyrant that without a leader, they'll be disbanded, and the mighty force they once represented will really be nothing anymore. And besides, they worship power as well. They literally thrive on it. Right now, I suspect that the Arrancar are being controlled by a man named Ichimaru Gin, Aizen's right-hand man. And those Shinigami in your army- they are definitely under Ichimaru's command as well, because who else is there to follow?"_

_"…So, I got sent on a mission to exterminate some Arrancar that had survived the Winter War. The Espada –the strongest Arrancar- all are dead. Therefore, the fight was supposed to be easy for me, who slayed their leader. But I let my…feelings…get in the way of my fighting, and was injured more than usual. Then, the Senkai Gates were sealed, though I'm not quite sure if it was a coincidence, or if Ichimaru has some other motive for sending the Arrancar on a mission sure to be suicidal. Furthermore, I was bleeding far too much for my liking, and I saw Frostmarris in the distance…"_

(AN: Start agaaaaiinnn~ damn I must be getting annoying.)

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"…And that leads us to the current situation," Hitsugaya finished. He could feel some of the wounds on his back slightly reopening due to the pressure his mind was taking, and made a mental note to ask for new bandages and his clothes back.

He preferred his shihakushou and everything else to the attire they were telling him to wear. He saw their clothes as a more medieval style of what people wore in Karakura, and extremely uncomfortable.

The prodigy's emerald orbs darted around the room and took in all the occupants' appearances, quietly examining their expressions. He saw the hesitation, the apprehension, and the wonder, and felt considerably resigned, because the sentiment that stood out the most clearly stated "what the hell?"

Especially in that Paters's face, he looked like he'd been smashed in the face with a still full chamber pot. (AN: Jackson's last name is Paters.)

Ah, and did he forget to mention that his head still hurt like it did when he found out that Matsumoto had been hiding her share of the work underneath the sofa, in the bathroom, and behind the bookcase, and when he realized that every single piece of the hidden paperwork was due the next day?

No, he didn't think he did.

**You are considerably stressed, little one.** Hyourinmaru's deep tone rumbled through his head and soothed him. It was the effect Hyourinmaru had on him, and Hitsugaya wouldn't have it any other way. The wise Heavenly Guardian had pulled him out of many precarious situations by calming his mind.

**Of course I am**, Hitsugaya told Hyourinmaru crossly. **These humans don't seem to trust me a lot. But if they were really quick to believe me, it would help the situation.**

**Patience. The dragon is always patient, Toshiro. They will react… eventually.**

**…That was comforting. If you left out the eventually, it would have been much better, Hyourinmaru.**

The sound of hail rushed through his mind, and he longed for the peace, quiet, and solemnity of his inner world. The majestic dragon chuckled quietly, his laughter not too unlike the sound ice has when it shatters.

**Such audacity, little one!**

**We are one, are we not, Hyourinmaru?** Hitsugaya declared loudly in his mind. **Though you may be stronger and the reason for my strength, we are equals after all, because you could not exist without me, and I cannot exist without you.**

**…True. Toshiro, your mind has grown older.** Hyourinmaru sounded vaguely pleased.

**I believe we have all noticed already, no?**

**Hn…Toshiro, though I hate to admit it, you are wrong. Several still think of you as a child. And you still are, by Soul Society's standards, being only 103 years old.**

**…Thank you for the vote of confidence, Hyourinmaru.**

Again, the sound of ice being crushed reached Hitsugaya's ears. **Little one, has your headache gone?**

**…No. It's definitely not going away soon, though.**

**You should rest, little one.**

**I will. Sooner or later. I might have to take care of a few things though, because they might want me to identify the shinigami amongst them.**

**Yes, you might have to. Plus, keep in mind that, your inner world is receiving the brunt of it**, Hyourinmaru noted dryly. **The ice is turning slushy, and the temperature hotter. I believe you can hold out for at least one more hour without a painkiller.**

**…That's not good.**

**Agreed. And, keep in mind that you're not the one in here 24/7.**

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After the boy declared he was dead, Timor didn't know why he trusted the boy instantly. Perhaps it was the unearthly characteristic of the supernatural that flowed around him, however unconscious he was to it, or the way the boy looked like he was just like ice.

Or perhaps the white-haired taicho looked like the type you could trust your life with.

Yet, all the same, he might have felt Hitsugaya was a good person because he said 'thank you' to Jackson and him on the rampart. Who knew?

Timor was absolutely positive that everyone else in the room unquestionably felt the same.

However, uneasiness began to settle deeply in his stomach as Hitsugaya continued with his story. If this Aizen's plan took them so far and actually dragged another world into this business, then what would be next? Afterward, when the boy described the events that brought him here and finished telling everything from start to end, waiting expectantly for someone to say something, Timor wanted to blurt out and actually help him avoid the self-conscious quiet that instantly followed his last words.

But his voice felt stuck.

Thoroughly ashamed of himself, Timor averted Hitsugaya's calculating gaze, and decided to exchange glances with Jackson instead, whom he disapprovingly noted had the expression of a man who just got whacked in the face with a still-full chamber pot.

Timor was pretty sure he looked the same as well, and didn't comment on it.

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This time, it was Hitsugaya who broke the silence first. Though, he'd have liked it if he could have chatted with Hyourinmaru a bit more, of course, but he really needed to hurry up and clear whatever problems up so he could finally sit down and rest.

"Ah," he began tentatively, for there weren't many awkward silences when you spent most of your time around a chatterbox (Matsumoto) 65 percent of the time.

"…I know that everything is a bit hard to believe, but please cope with me," he said sincerely, and hoped his inner world wasn't starting to grow flowers. Springtime was always a bad, bad sign in his inner world, because firstly, it meant Hyourinmaru would start sneezing, and secondarily, it meant he wasn't feeling at his best at the moment.

Thirrin looked up from staring at the floor, and gave him a hesitant smile. Then, she extended a hand, grin growing with each movement. The icy prodigy looked at her confusedly, something akin to surprise spreading over his face, slowly warming it up.

"…It _is_ rather hard to believe, but I put my trust in you. I look forward to our partnership. When can we start working on this problem together?" The Queen positively beamed.

Hitsugaya looked from her hand to Thirrin, and a brilliant grin growing on his features, he took her hand and said, "Later today. I remember every face of every traitor shinigami, and I can look through your troops for you."

But everyone in the room was left speechless. Not because of the boy's words, but because of…of…well…what a smile the taicho had.

Was it just them, or did the boy steal all the light in the world and center it all on him?

Thirrin flushed madly, and abruptly stood up. "W-w-w-w-w-w-we will be going now," she stammered, too flustered to retreat into her full Queen mode. Hitsugaya looked bewildered at the sudden gesture, but within seconds his business-like manner came back again.

"Right. But before you go, I'd like you to make sure my clothes are sent back to me, along with a long cape of any sort with a hood that would cover my face and new bandages. I'd also like to request that only the people that were here for the discussion send me anything so no one knows I am here other than the people in this room."

"Why?" Jackson demanded. "This is freaking cool! We could tell everyone, y'know, and be bragging bastards." Timor bobbed his head in agreement.

"That is precisely the reason why I just requested that no one knew of my presence here and that only the people who know about me come here. If you told everyone, what if the news reached the shinigami hidden amongst you? People with white hair and teal eyes are not common, even in Soul Society. And, have you ever met someone who declared he was from the world of the dead and a shinigami taicho?

"Also, when I inspect your troops later on with Queen Thirrin's permission, they might run upon seeing me, which is why I requested for the cloak. And now," Hitsugaya continued bluntly, grabbing one of the blankets on the floor, "I am going to rest for a bit. I have a _massive_ migraine. Do not disturb me."

And in what he thought was a fairly dignified manner, he stalked over to the bed, dragged the blanket over him, and collapsed.

…Finally.

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Ah!!! What did I tell you, hmmm? It's incredibly boring, so I added the painkillers part. The next chapters should get a move one, really! It won't just stay in the same place now! It's going to start unfolding now! So stay with me please! And feedback, yes- I live for feedback.


	5. The Strength and Wonders of Thinking

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Ah. Many thanks to **pickynicky** and **Lee0616** for favoriting! Now I have six favorites! Thank you so much! And thanks to **Kimichan**, **yazza**, **bettyrizzo**, **kbookworm3**, **anonymous-person-who-didn't-leave-a-name**, **ObsidianEbony**, **Lee0616**, and **Carrot-head** for reviewing! And thank you everyone who is sticking with me right now! To yazza: no, you aren't annoying! I'm really happy you think my story is worth reviewing over and over again. To bettyrizzo: thank you for the encouragement! To kbookworm3: I'm working on Ichimaru's role in the story, and am trying to write practice pieces of Ichimaru's personality, because he is one hard character to write. He's so, so cryptic and awesome, and he'd my second-favorite character, because he shows really human sides at times, like when he was talking about Kira in one of the most recent chapters, and when he said sorry to Matsumoto! Ah, I'm in fangirl mode now… To the anonymous-person-who-didn't-leave-a-name: ah, yes, thank you. I think the part about Advil was rather good of me too, I'm proud of that part. No, I don't feel like killing off Ukitake, because he has to wait for Kyouraku, and yes! Go Hinamori! (I just feel so sorry for her, you know?) I don't mind you not reviewing before, since school is a killer for me too :P Ack, I'm in all Honors again, and I am going to drown in the workload. And the flowers part was to make you think, glad it turned out the way it did and made you think XD And it was deathly boring, which explained the late update. To Lee0616: I am so, so happy that you found this story worth it! Really, I've gone teary. (Sentimental mode: on.) Well, then, the reason why this story came out a while later too is also because it's the longest chapter so far. Lots of stuff I wanted to input into one chapter, so yea. Enjoy!

* * *

Declaimer: I do not own Bleach nor The Cry of the Icemark, but I own this storyline. (By the way, is it Disclaimer or Declaimer? I think they both work, but…)

**-The Strength and Wonders of Thinking-**

A mass of soldiers stood in the large spacious stone courtyard of Frostmarris, all dressed in everyday clothes. Bright reds, light blues, deep forest greens, dull grays and homely browns- it would have seemed like an everyday market with people milling around. However, the only difference was that everyone stood in straight lines and rows, backs straight and weapons held at attention. The crisp wind brushed through the ranks, whistling and trying to rattle them, but no one shivered, bearing the cold through, anticipation running through their veins. Icicles sparkled in the bright afternoon sun, and the white snow was almost blinding. The flagstones of the courtyard were glazed over with a thin sheen of frost, which was slowly cracking and melting under the boots of the warriors, who all had their eyes fixed on the commanding group on the top of the ramparts.

The Queen Thirrin had commanded all of Frostmarris's militia to appear in the courtyard at 3:00 p.m. Every single guard, every single sentry, and even the generals had to obey, or the punishments would be severe. And so all of them appeared, all on time, seriousness etched deeply into their features. Normally, the Queen would call one regiment or all the generals to meet, not everyone. Therefore, this matter must be quite the important one for her to call all of the fyrd.

It was no surprise to see the Queen in all her fierce cat-like glory, red hair tied into a stern bun on the back of her head, shield slung on her back, sword hanging in its leather sheath at her waist. It was also no surprise to see the tall gangly black-haired warlock with her, as well as the wizened Maggiore Totus bundled up in six layers of clothing. No, what made most of the warriors feel perturbed was the short, child-like figure right next to the Queen. The figure held an intimidating aura of mystery, face and body shrouded in a long black cloak. Many of the younger fighters had already come up with fanatical ideas, like the person being a vampire coming to pick out a tithe of a few soldiers, or an extremely deformed and short werewolf that came to sniff out traitors.

The older warriors decided it would be better not to muse along with all the other new recruits because they all knew that if they paid attention to just one of the musings, they'd break down and start laughing uncontrollably. And if they did actually start laughing, it wouldn't be very pleasant looking at Hell in the face an hour later.

* * *

Looking at the troops in front of him, Hitsugaya felt an odd feeling come over him, the emotion resting in his chest like a heavy rock. It was slightly uncomfortable, surveying troops that weren't his, troops that he had nearly no connection with. He also could see that everyone viewed their leader with true respect and trust.

But most of all, Hitsugaya could see that they saw Thirrin just as she was.

Though he genuinely hated himself for this, he wished with all his heart the 10th Division's squads felt the same way as he led them into battle, and he wished they could see him in the same light as everyone in front of him saw Thirrin. But he sincerely doubted they could ever see him for what he was, because he showed that same, cold indifferent air to everyone, letting only a few people into the ring of people he'd call friends. Most of his subordinates still saw him as a child, like Hyourinmaru had so tartly reminded him earlier that day. The only time most of his subordinates truly showed respect to him was when he unleashed his temper, and they always scampered for their lives. None of them, except for Matsumoto and some of the other taichos and fukutaichos, ever took some time trying to get to know him. But, though he'd never tell anyone, he was proud of his Division, even if they just thought of him as a short kid with a nasty temper. He was proud of their determination, their motivation, and their skills. The only way that they'd ever find out about what he thought was if they actually went through the trouble of looking for his journal and sketchbook of everyday things, both of which he kept safely hidden underneath a loose floorboard in his room. And no one ever went into his room except for himself. Not even Matsumoto ever put a foot in there. But if she should pay a visit to his room during his absence, he hoped that she never found his sketchbook more than he hoped she wouldn't find his journal. His sketchbook had pictures of everything, like watermelons and calligraphy brushes and Hell Moths and even Hyourinmaru. But there were also pictures of his subordinates training and notes about them underneath the images, listing the quirks they had that no one knew about and things about them that he'd picked up as he watched them. He'd taken their habits in mind as he assigned them to missions, and put them in squads where they'd get along and do nothing stupid like what the 11th would do all the time. Hitsugaya even visited them when they were injured, but only when they were sleeping. He made Unohana-taicho swear secrecy, much to her amusement, and he constantly had to take some of her paperwork nowadays to make her keep her mouth shut. Unohana was scary when she was bargaining. The 10th division taicho would be absolutely mortified if they found out he did all these things to make their everyday lives more enjoyable.

Ah, he didn't change much from 103 years ago, did he?

Really, he reprimanded himself, it was all wishful thinking. Hitsugaya didn't want anything in return for his efforts.

The prodigy's bright teal orbs looked at the crowd in front of him, scanning their faces, searching for the ones that he recognized. The first row was clear, as was the second, the third, the fourth, the fifth, the sixth…

As his hidden gaze reached the second to last row, Hitsugaya recognized someone almost instantly, and anger slowly began flooding his senses. _Him_. He pushed the emotion back irritably, calming himself with the cold seeping into his bones, and carefully stepped closer to the Queen, his voice low and imperceptible to all the mass of soldiers below them.

"Queen Thirrin, I've sighted only one shinigami amongst your ranks. I will wait for your permission to deal with him. And I will put this bluntly- I am going to kill him, if that is alright with you."

He felt her gaze on him, and after a short pause, heard her distinctly say in a thick voice, "That is alright with me." But Hitsugaya read in between the lines, and could tell that she was also saying, _"Kill him. I don't care. I want revenge, even if I am not the one to carry it out. I want to make at least one of the betrayers pay for what they've done, for killing those who they called friends."_

Hitsugaya gave another curt nod, and deadpanned, "Thank you."

He saw the girl give him a look of confusion. "'Thank you' for what?"

The tensai fixed her with what would have been one of his famous piercing gazes. Quietly, he elaborated, "You are letting me carry out your revenge for you. That's why I am saying thank you, because it's…hard to let someone else carry out the retribution you want to carry out. But, vengeance is not a healthy feeling, so just let it go." He knew he was right. His wanting for revenge against Aizen had taken a toll on his body far back before the Winter War, and he had known it, but was unable to stop the effects.

The response was quick and snappish. "I know, I _know_ already. Don't repeat what I've realized a long time ago!"

"You already knew it, but you didn't want to believe it. Now, can you tell the troops what I am going to do, because it's been a while since they assembled and some may be getting antsy." Hitsugaya's reply was equally tart, and Thirrin felt rather abashed by her lack of patience.

Clearing her throat, she decided to dismiss her mistake as a royal prerogative and raised her voice, its high sound rising up into the bright blue sky, mingling with the swirling clouds like a hawk.

"Warriors of the Icemark!" the flame-haired ruler called, her tone causing the horde of soldiers to stir and turn their undivided attention to her. "It is unusual that I have called you all here today. But it is to address a very important matter that concerns all of us! As many of you have noticed, there are traitors amongst you! There are people who are killing comrades in cold blood, comrades who have shared and laughed together! But it can all end now, which is why I've called you all here today!"

A ripple of questioning flew through the crowd like an invisible wave rushing up and breaking on the reef. Hitsugaya patiently waited, and silently prepared his reiatsu to burst out at the correct moment. But before he finished off that traitor standing all so innocently amongst those ready to die for their country, he'd have to ask that man some questions. As many questions as he could wring out of that lying mouth before he decided to end it all. His sword hand relaxed rather than tensed, as it did before a battle, so the nerves wouldn't cramp.

The wielder of Hyourinmaru took a deep steady breath, watching it slowly dissipate into the frosty air, sensing its particles enter the atmosphere. He almost could have smirked. It brought back memories of when he finally made Hyourinmaru's bankai mature.

_"If your weapon is eight arms…__**mine is all the water in the atmosphere.**__" _Ah, that brought back memories. Mostly memories he'd have liked to pretend that never happened, but still. The tensai felt old, even though he didn't look like it.

"There is a person today who can seek out those spies! And he is here to help us!"

A roar of approval rose at her words, and she beamed at them, joy not hidden, as they banged their swords against their shields. Hitsugaya was surprised. This was the extent of their loyalty to their leader- they'd believe anyone she trusted, and they'd go down with her if she went down, but not before fighting to defend her honor. He felt appreciation for these people rush through him, and determination to find out what role the shinigami and Arrancars had in the Icemark's war made his body slowly tense into a battle position.

"Let us rejoice!"

* * *

After Thirrin gave her motivational speech and gave him a brisk nod, Hitsugaya immediately took action.

His teal eyes suddenly flaring electric blue, his mind locking on that one shinigami in front of him, and Hyourinmaru roaring an earthshaking battle cry in the back of his mind, he gathered his reiatsu in his feet to prepare for shunpo. He silently thanked Yoruichi for helping him improve his natural speed, and before his image completely disappeared in the soldiers' eyes, he appeared in front of the shinigami he sighted before. The deserter had no time to react before Hyourinmaru's slender and deadly blade was coldly pressing at his neck, Hitsugaya's hand now visible. However, his dark hood was still on, thanks to the frost that was slowly coating the black covers in thin silvery layers.

The man had shock written all over his face, and Hitsugaya had to admit that his acting skills were rather refined. But of course they'd be superb, seeing as he and many others deceived the entire Seireitei back then. The Juuban tai taicho's zanpakutou remained unmoving like his soul, and he scoffed. "Surprised? Coward, what did you think you could achieve by running away?"

"Wh-wh-what is this?! I'm innocent, I tell you! I'm innocent! I'm not one of _those_ people! You're a liar, condemning innocent people, you! W-wait, I know! You're one of _them_ too! You've tricked our Queen and now you're here to make sure that anyone who's in your way is out of action!" the man bellowed, anger and fear leaking into his face. This exclamation seemed to rile up some of the soldiers, and casting a glance at Thirrin, he felt a bit angry at the doubt that momentarily flashed across her face.

"I am and am not one of them," he hissed, the already frigid temperature dropping drastically. "Yes I have the same powers, but no, I am not a traitor to Seireitei, _Imada Ayame_, _Juuban tai san-seki_. Do not deny it, _Imada_. I know you well. You should remember _me_ in the least, bastard."

Imada Ayame's panicked demeanor was dropped immediately as soon as he heard his name spoken, and the black-haired man chuckled lightly. "Ahh, I got found out! So, my former taicho has taken action now, eh? Mm, it's just like Aizen-sama said. You meddle in affairs far beyond your control, taicho-san."

Hitsugaya's dangerously glowing eyes smoldered in the shadow of the cloak. "Far beyond my control, you say? What do you mean by that, Imada?" The former third seat's pale lavender eyes narrowed, making his thin, pallid face seem that ever more like Ichimaru Gin's. "I meant exactly what I said, kawaii chibi-kun. So you _haven't_ caught onto the plot here, eh? Hah, you came three years too late! Ichimaru-sama's plan has taken effect! Imagine the _power_, taicho-san! After Aizen-sama perished, we thought it would be too late for us all! But Ichimaru-sama couldn't turn back and make things go back to normal! We couldn't go back either! So we moved on, and the new plan is even stronger! It's been reinforced, rebuilt, and perfected until it became far, far stronger that Aizen-sama's original plan, taicho-san! And this time, it'll be Soul Society that falls! And you, who became a hero, will fall with it! Oh, and taicho-san, let me warn you- step out before you die before your time, which will be soon."

"What?!" Hitsugaya's eyes widened a fraction. "Imada, what is Ichimaru planning to do now?! Answer me!" he snarled, the ice encrusting on his zanpakutou. Imada paused, and then smiled. "Ahh, really, be reasonable! Chibi-taicho-san, you ask too many questions."

The prodigy's burning eyes widened even more, and he had only a second to cast Kyoumon on everyone around him before the ambitious third-seat released his zanpakutou in a massive explosion of ice shards, rocks, and the third-seat's own shimmering indigo reiatsu.

"Mabuta o akete, Kouman no Jigoku!"

Hitsugaya didn't even flinch, and he calmly waited for the dust to die down, drawing his hood up again. The blast had caused his cover to fly back, revealing his face. Since he was staying here for probably a few weeks, judging from what Hinamori said and the scans on his cell phone, he didn't want unnecessary prejudice and trouble. He had enough to worry about as it was.

The icy genius cursed at himself for not noticing that the twisted man's hand had reached for his zanpakutou. This fight could have been finished quickly and easily.

As the air cleared, he could see the soldiers he'd protected touch the barrier he had placed around them, looking at it with fascination and caution, extending their hands and feeling the static-like feeling run up and down their arms. Hitsugaya smirked, and held Hyourinmaru up in a ready stance, adrenaline pumping him up and making him feel so alive, so ready. His clear eyes took in the image of Imada's zanpakutou, only to notice that it had changed completely. Zanpakutous only change completely when their wielder's personalities change drastically, and the prodigy's bright eyes turned to slits, scowl deepening.

Imada laughed again. "Ah, taicho-san, surprised? Yes, my Tenyume changed into Kouman no Jigoku. Fascinating, isn't it?" He regarded the zanpakutou in his hand with pride. "Kouman no Jigoku is very proud and strong as well. Not as weak-hearted and merciful as Tenyume was. What a difference, don't you think?"

And yes, the change was startling. Tenyume had been a slim katana with a long reach, its triangular guard elaborately decorated with several metal chains that had letters dangling from it. The letters were all sorts of shikai and powers, thus making Tenyume san-seki material. But now, the new zanpakutou was a thick, chunky claymore, jagged steel teeth erupting from it at odd angles, the former zanpakutou's delicacy gone.

"Imada, you have changed even more than I had imagined. What happened to the original Imada, who was kind to everyone and saved several lives by putting his own on the line, receiving blows that were nearly fatal?!" Hitsugaya bellowed, his grip on Hyourinmaru tightening. He'd rather _die_ and get reincarnated without his memories than have Hyourinmaru not be Hyourinmaru anymore.

"Mm, I have changed a lot, haven't I now? Well, taicho-san, the old Imada met Aizen and his ideals! I'm not just san-seki level, I'm at taicho level now, with Kouman no Jigoku's brute force and shikai! I'm on my way to bankai now too, taicho-san! Don't take me too lightly, now."

"…I won't underestimate you. I will use shikai if necessary."

"And what about bankai, ne? It seems that no matter what you say, you are still underestimating me, eh?"

"Bankai is out of the question, Imada."

"Haha! Still cocky, are you? Let's see about that! Here, my first shikai! Gekido, Kouman no Jigoku!" The tall man called out his first release power, the weapon in his hand vibrating upon its call, killing intent pulsing off of it in waves. Then, Imada's eyes burned flaming red, and Hitsugaya's breath caught for a moment.

He just…looked a lot like…_Kusaka_…!!

Suddenly, suspended around him in the air, thousands of blinding white blades with black edges appeared in a flash, all aimed at various parts of his body where wounds would be fatal. They rotated in the air, Hitsugaya's keen vision following the steady movement.

As Imada brought down his upraised broadsword in a slashing motion, the stunningly white replicas of Kouman no Jigoku all rushed at him, blinding all of the onlookers, suffocating them in a sea of white marred with small dots of black. Those who could still see slightly swore they saw a flash of blinding blue underneath the hood.

Che, so easy. His everyday training was harder.

Hitsugaya let his instincts take his arm around in a blur, fluidly knocking all of the offending swords out of the air. With clangs, they crashed to the ground and shattered into several pieces. But they continuously duplicated, mirroring Imada's stubbornness (and bull-headed stupidity) and the white-haired tensai repeated the same process, his sword-hand a furious black whir, his lithe body moving swiftly to dodge the cutting edges aimed to kill. Jump, hit, duck, turn around, jump, hit, duck, turn around.

One sword he had failed to notice whirled above his head and came down at him, whistling in the air, trying to cleave his head in two. Five others came at him as well: two from the right and left side, one from behind him, two from in front.

**How cliché**, Hyourinmaru noted. **Thinking inside the box seems to be a particular habit of his, Toshiro. He needs to break out of that box, and then we may view him as a serious threat.**

**Yes. It will take much more to persuade me to let you fly for such as him.**

**…Then, you understand why power was so appealing to him. He wants to be recognized, little one.**

**…Of course I understand. There are times where I would have done anything for power, Hyourinmaru. Remember? In the beginning, it was to gain recognition, like Imada. Later, it was to be able to kill Aizen.**

**…The latter reason was the one that nearly killed you.**

**I know.**

**Watch out Toshiro.**

**…I know.**

Just before the tips of the blades reached his body, Hitsugaya rolled across the ground and let the weapons hurtle by, all of them crashing to a stop upon contact with each other, causing them to destroy themselves. He sent a few of the other white claymores to their destruction by slamming them into the rocky walls with a few choice moves.

Hitsugaya heard Imada give an aggravated snarl, and the blades came up again when he saw that they failed to even scratch the small captain.

"Is that it?" he called out to Imada in contempt as the shikai failed to harm him again, and sensing that the duplicates were slow in picking themselves up, he charged at Imada with a wild battle cry, their zanpakutous clashing together with a metallic clang. The now red-eyed man cursed loudly as he was pressed backwards, his leather boots bringing out sparks against the flagstones of the courtyard as he wildly scrabbled for a foothold. Pushing Hitsugaya sideways right before he hit the wall and busted a hole through it, Imada leaped into the air, landing safely on the spirit particles in the atmosphere. He was panting and sweating, a small scratch underneath his left eye bleeding. The red liquid slowly slid down his face, and a surprised look came over Imada's face as he saw it drip almost teasingly onto his sword hand.

"What, didn't expect to get cut by me?" Hitsugaya scoffed, not a sign of exhaustion on him. "Really, you said you were taicho level?" He raised an eyebrow, the tress of hair over his left eye swaying a bit in the wind.

The willful shinigami twitched convulsively. "I am taicho level, o'chibi!" Imada roared angrily, and resumed his attack, Kouman no Jigoku swiping at the snow-crowned head randomly, his movements wild and easily read.

_"Imada, never let your emotions get in the way of your fighting," Hitsugaya instructed to a tired san-seki on the training grounds. "Though I am centuries younger than you, let me tell you this- it'll affect your fighting in ways you'll never know."_

Really, Imada Ayame, you have never learned from all this time, have you?

The prodigy flipped agilely and aimed a hit at Imada's legs, who narrowly avoided losing his limbs by leaping backwards. Flying back into battle, he cleverly faked a move at Hitsugaya's side and putting all his weight into his arm, jabbed at the stomach instead, attempting to skewer Hitsugaya. Imada lurched forward when his hit met air, and taking advantage of his opponent's unbalanced state, Hitsugaya in turn leaped up and shunpo'd behind the now harried traitor, sending a slash at Imada's side, cutting through the skin.

"Gah!" Imada made a strangled choke as he felt Hyourinmaru slice its way through his side, breaking two ribs. He slid backwards, heated breath frosting over in the air, originally spotless clothes soiled with blood. Imada's leather boots were weighing him down in the air, bottoms now torn up. Hitsugaya regarded his opponent with a bit of remorse.

"Stupid move, Imada. Never throw all your weight into a chancy hit. Didn't you learn that a long time ago as well?"

To his astonishment, Imada unexpectedly grinned. "Well, then, taicho-san! Looks like I underestimated you too, ne?" he said straightening up from the bent over posture he had taken upon feeling his ribs crack.

"Let me raise your expectations of me, chibi-kun."

Hitsugaya stood stock still, teal eyes locking with red.

"This is my second shikai. Yumekage, Kouman no Jigoku."

And Hitsugaya's world was shrouded in white and black.

* * *

Transparent, indistinct shapes flooded around Hitsugaya. His mind felt eerily disconnected, floating in another dimension. Soft voices called out to him in tantalizing tones, some he faintly thought he recognized, some he thought he'd never heard before in his life.

It was then that he realized that he couldn't sense Hyourinmaru. Panicking, the icy prodigy looked for the blade, and with a start realized that the katana was still in his hand. But then, why couldn't he sense the spirit? Unless…

"Ahh, taicho-san. It seems you have realized." A dark figure stepped out of the white mist.

"I-Imada?! What is this?!" Hitsugaya demanded harshly, struggling to get up from his kneeling position he was currently in, but failing. "Imada!!"

"This is my second shikai, taicho-san. I told you already."

"No! I know that! What did you do to Hyourinmaru, bastard!" Hitsugaya shouted, fighting against the invisible bonds holding him captive.

The black-haired man chuckled lightly. "My, my, so energetic. This shikai disconnects zanpakutou from the wielder, taicho-san. It dwells on mental strength rather than physical strength," Imada explained, his eyes flashing.

"Mental strength?"

"Mm, mental strength." Imada bent down to Hitsugaya's eye level, looking down into the defiant aquamarine depths. "Your memories are all visible to the world, chibi-kun, now that Hyourinmaru-san isn't here to protect your mind."

"What?!"

"Exactly as I said, chibi-kun."

"Y-you…!"

"Ah, let's see…which one should we use first…?"

Hitsugaya still searched in vain for Hyourinmaru's presence. Before his mind was consumed by a predatory darkness that tore at his consciousness.

* * *

Imada Ayame saw many things. His mind quickly sorting through the hundreds of memories and thoughts, he put his own thoughts at risk as he allowed himself to feel the most excruciating reminiscences, smirking and yet wincing as he came across the ones with the most remorse and hurt than the normal.

* * *

_Hinamori's body lay unmoving on the cold paneled floor, her life's essence pouring out of the open wound in her chest, glassy eyes wide open with shock._

_"Hina…mori…" His breath hitched. He had failed. He had failed to protect one of the most important people to him. Why? Wasn't he strong enough? It was all his fault, all his fault…_

_He heard Aizen's words ring in his mind, and slowly he controlled his anger, and let it out in one humongous explosion as Aizen's plan was revealed to him, calling out, "Bankai. DAIGUREN HYOURINMARU!!"_

_Then, his vision drowned in black as he felt a piercing pain in his chest, pain setting off like fireworks in his body._

_"Wh…at?"_

* * *

Jackpot, Imada thought triumphantly.

That memory would do. Standing out of the range of his shikai, he carefully inputted the scene into the white mist, forcing Hitsugaya to remember and feel the pain, the hurt, the guilt.

He chuckled lightly as he saw the terrified faces of the soldiers beneath them, their eyes all seemingly fixed on the white cloud that now covered Hitsugaya alone. He could also feel their memories, but scoffed and decided to leave them alone. He could play around with them later, after he finished off this so-called hero and received acknowledgement from Ichimaru-sama. Perhaps he'd become Ichimaru-sama's right hand man! Who knew?

But Imada was certain of one thing.

To psychologically break down an opponent was truly amazing.

He thanked Kouman no Jigoku profusely, who merely vibrated with glee, his unusually shrill voice echoing in the burning volcano that was Imada's new inner world.

Kouman no Jigoku thrived on pain.

* * *

Hitsugaya controlled himself quite well. He was rather proud to say that he hadn't broken yet, and as he saw himself walk away from his grandmother's hut a few forty years ago, the look on her face even worse than Hinamori's tears, he congratulated himself all over again, old wounds reopening.

Nonetheless, all the while, he kept calling out Hyourinmaru's name patiently, and waiting for the Heavenly Guardian to come back.

He knew that the extension of his soul was stronger than this stupid half-assed shikai, and could feel Hyourinmaru struggling fiercely to come back to his master, trickles of his presence tranquilly slipping its way back into Hitsugaya's empty inner world.

With a start, Hitsugaya knew a large icy wing had just materialized in his mind. H stifled a smirk. With his confidence coming back, the tensai concentrated solely on Hyourinmaru, filling his mind with thoughts about his zanpakutou, even as the image of Matsumoto plummeting to the earth after she dealt with her Arrancar opponent in the Winter War popped up in his mind, even as he heard himself screaming for her. Blocking out the scene, he could still faintly sense the panic and fear of losing someone important in the memory, and cringed inwardly.

**…To…shiro…**

**…Hyourinmaru. **Without Hyourinmaru, Hitsugaya had felt like nothing.

**…Break the bonds, little one. **

**From your tone of voice, it seems like breaking the stupid things holding me down is the only way out, am I right?** Hitsugaya noted wryly as he heard a strain in the deep voice of his zanpakutou.

**Yes and no. I analyzed the structure momentarily, and your reiatsu, if you let ¼ of it out, could easily take apart this structure. But that would not be wise, seeing as it may crush some of the souls below.**

**…Yes. I am well aware of that. I suppose I'll have to take the bonds apart with brute strength?**

The dragon chuckled darkly and snorted. **This is the equivalent to a strong binding spell. If Kurosaki Ichigo broke out of the one Kuchiki Rukia placed on him in the very beginning, then you should be able to, seeing as Kuchiki Rukia was always fukutaicho level but was unable to get promoted due to…**

**Her doting nii-sama. Yes, it's all apparent. Apparently Yamamoto had to speak to Kuchiki-taicho personally to ensure Rukia's promotion to fukutaicho rank.**

**…Toshiro.**

**Yes, yes, I'll get working on the bonds, got it.**

* * *

Thirrin watched in horror as she saw the traitor shinigami standing outside of the cloud-thing that he'd called up, laughing every once in a while and fingering through the glowing red sphere in his hand, twisted images of people and places swirling around it. Every few images he'd jab a finger at the globe, and a silvery thread would come out of the cloud and snatch the image into it.

Her terror was intensified as the boy didn't emerge from the cloud for three minutes. The time flew by, and it became five minutes. Then ten minutes…

Oskan's comforting and tight grip on her shoulder was what kept her believing that the white-haired boy wasn't dead, and that he was still able and that the Icemark wouldn't be doomed.

* * *

Imada summoned a Hell Moth while he was still lazily stirring through the memories, and spoke quietly to it. As he sent the Moth on it's way with a lazy wave of his hand, he smirked offhandedly.

How stupid. The people in Seireitei should have made sure that it'd be impossible for the traitors to call up the Hell Moths and use them.

Shaking his head, he returned to browsing through the remembrances, and picked out the one about someone named Kusaka. The pale man was just about to jab at it and input it into the mist before Kouman no Jigoku's voice screeched a warning in his mind.

**A-A-A-A-AYAME!**

**What is it, Kou?** He had gotten used to Kouman no Jigoku's habit of lengthening the syllables of words by repeating the first sound. At first, it had been annoying, but now he didn't give a damn about it. Kouman no Jigoku had given him power, and he was grateful.

**T-T-T-THE BOY! **_**THE BOY IS BREAKING THROUGH THE BONDS, AYAME!**_

Now he was seriously alarmed.

**Kou?! Are you sure? That's- that's…!**

There was a colossal eruption of reiatsu-filled ice, the shards steadily glowing a pale silvery blue, literally crackling and overflowing with energy. As the disturbance in the air cleared, a figure could be seen, katana held in a ready position.

**I-impossible! K-Kouman no Jigoku! H-how did he…?!**

"Oi, Imada," his former captain called out cheekily, breathing heavily. "Looks like I'll really have to let Hyourinmaru out now. He's not very happy at the moment, you know."

Hitsugaya, still cloaked in black, hood still on, raised his zanpakutou over his head, the blade glinting menacingly in the sun, crystals of pale blue forming on its edges with loud cracks.

Imada cursed loudly as he heard four words he really didn't want to hear right now.

**Kouman no Jigoku, is this it?**

"Souten ni Zase, Hyourinmaru!!"

* * *

Hitsugaya was filled with intense battle-lust at the moment. He wondered if Zaraki (no, he didn't want to refer to Zaraki with taicho, because the grisly man had recently taken to calling the short taicho _Shiro_) felt like this all the time.

If Zaraki felt like this all the time, Hitsugaya found himself admiring the man in a higher degree, and contemplated changing his opinion of the man.

Really.

How could you fight with such a humongous fire inside, trying to burst out in one enormous bang? Hitsugaya's chest felt too small and cramped as he let loose another wild battle cry and sliced downwards, leaving Imada to gasp for air as the tip of Hyourinmaru sliced through his chest and nearly punctured a lung. He could see Imada was tiring, and knew it was about time to finish the fight.

And the snow-crowned taicho did do just that, not wanting his wounds from yesterday to open up in spite of how tightly he applied the bandages and how much taicho-level healing kido he used on himself.

In one speedy movement, when Imada's guard had too many open places, Hitsugaya ran the black-haired man through, blood spurting from the traitor's chest like a fountain.

"Hitsu…gaya…taicho."

Imada's voice wheezed as he struggled to find the words, Kouman no Jigoku shattering with a penetrating shriek, his eyes fading back to its pale lavender. "Hitsu…gaya-taicho…you…are…"

"You…are…too late."

Hitsugaya's eyes widened for a fraction of a second, and he leaned towards his impaled opponent. "What do you mean, Imada, that I am too late…?" he hissed.

Imada's bloodied hands scrabbled for a hold on Hyourinmaru's slim blade. "I have…" he rasped, "…Already sent a Jigoku-cho…to tell the others…to withdraw…" Imada coughed, blood dripping from his mouth, pupil slowly growing larger as his iris slowly lost its control over the pupil.

"What? Withdraw? You could have asked them to demolish the troops already, why withdraw?" the 10th Division's captain ordered callously. The Hell Moth was probably long gone, it was no use to go after it. The man was dying anyway, and Hitsugaya wanted answers.

The previous san-seki was silent, and Hitsugaya wondered if the man had died already until the man spoke again, though not answering his inquiry.

"You..." Imada whispered. "Chibi…kun…th…ough we…all helped…Aizen…and…are branded as…traitors, chibi-kun…thank you…for ending my miserable…life for me…because…I could not…turn back…on the path…I have so…foolishly chosen…to walk on…"

Shock lanced its way through the diminutive barely-a-century-old captain. "What is this, Imada…?"

"…With…all due respect, taicho-san…if Tenyume…pops up again…tell her new wielder…to tell Tenyume…that…her previous…wielder…"

Imada's hands went limp, and they dropped from the blade as the cryptic man drew his last breath and said his last words.

"…Is so, so sorry…"

Imada's body slowly began disintegrating into a grayish sort of dust, swirling around Hitsugaya almost playfully as they dispersed into the frosty air with Imada.

Hitsugaya stared at the point of his blade where Imada had been skewered on a few moments before.

**…I think I'll honor his last wishes, Hyourinmaru.**

**What was that?**

**I will honor his last wishes, only because it seemed that at the last minute, the old Imada came back. The Imada that we all thought we knew and liked.**

**…Yes. Yes,** the dragon repeated.** I think he'd like that.** Hyourinmaru mused softly, folding his wings and setting himself on a frozen rock in Hitsugaya's mind. **I think he'd like that a lot, little one.**

And Imada's blood steadily dripped and dripped from the tip of the prodigy's katana, a steady red stream with only one set path.

* * *

It was past midnight, and still Hitsugaya sat silently on top of a tall pinnacle, looking at the bright moon and twinkling stars, wearing a simple yukata, waiting for the sun to rise. He'd requested for cloth after he removed the Kyoumon on all the soldiers and swept off with Thirrin, and with robot-like speed, he'd fashioned himself a deep midnight blue yukata for everyday usage. Apparently, he'd informed an amused Queen, since there wasn't anyone to look after you except your friends in Seireitei after you became a shinigami, you had to learn how to patch up after yourself a lot. He'd also told the Queen that all the shinigami had withdrawn from the Icemark's forces, probably preparing themselves for something. He'd cursed at himself for too little tact as the girl's face took on surprise and then something like wariness. Hitsugaya had also requested that everyone just know him as a visiting warlock and an undercover detective for now, for he sensed that there were probably not only shinigami in the plot that Ichimaru had formed, but also some Icemark soldiers. Thirrin had complied his request eagerly, and sent out the notice to everyone that there was a new warlock that would be doing some undercover work and that they were not to refuse his requests at all.

Breathing in the scent of the boiling tea he held in his small hands, he sighed deeply. Right now, he was holding vigil for Kyouraku-taicho even though it was the 27th of January and Kyouraku had passed away on the 26th. He still remembered how Ise-fukutaicho had collapsed on the dead taicho's body, a sobbing mess. Unohana-taicho had cast a kido spell on Kyouraku-taicho's body, so it wouldn't disintegrate immediately. Everyone who was with Kyouraku upon his passing had left her alone, even Ukitake-taicho, whose face was twisted and eyes blinking back tears. The tensai had looked back right before he left, and didn't know whether to give_ it_ to her or not. But looking at her broken figure, he'd spun around and handed her a picture of Kyouraku-taicho with a horde of sake bottles around him, grinning at the camera. Matsumoto had taken it at one of their infamous sake parties, and without a word she'd taken it and hugged it to herself, crying dry tears now, glasses askew and hair down, the clip that held it in place fallen out.

The tensai had left the room with grace, and found Ukitake collapsed near a sakura tree, tears running down his face. He'd had nothing for Ukitake but his presence, and sat by Ukitake quietly, saying nothing.

With another sigh, Hitsugaya sipped his tea delicately, and wished for the green tea back in Soul Society. He firmly believed that their green tea was the best, but didn't complain. He should be glad he actually had tea in the first place.

"Hey, what're you doing up here? It's late, you know."

Hitsugaya spun around, instinctively reaching for Hyourinmaru, whom he realized he'd left back in his room. He was greeted by the person named Timor, who uncomfortably slid down next to Hitsugaya. The silver-haired taicho turned away dismissively and resumed his staring, teal eyes half-closed, scowl less prominent.

"I am just watching the stars and holding vigil for a departed colleague and friend."

He could tell that the teenager was immediately alarmed. "Oh! S-sorry for bothering, I'll leave you here," the blond stammered hastily, and tried to make his way back when he almost slid off the pinnacle with a surprised cry. Hitsugaya quickly caught him by the collar of his heavy coat, and huffed, "I never said you bothered me." Hauling the soldier back onto the pinnacle, he looked at his nearly-gone cup of tea. "Ahh, the tea's nearly gone," he said rather wistfully. "I'll have to heat some more up later."

"You like tea?" Timor queried.

"Yes."

"Oh." Timor suddenly grinned brightly, grey eyes shining. "Then we have something in common. What type do you like best?"

Hitsugaya gave him a startled look. Only a few people had ever asked him this question, and they were usually from the kitchens, taking his order for food when he called for them.

"…Ah. I like green tea." Clearing his throat, trying to keep as social as possible, he asked, "What about you?"

* * *

Hitsugaya and Timor sat in silence, after an animated talk about, of all things, tea. Timor cast a glance at Hitsugaya, whose face reflected the moonlight mysteriously. The sea-green eyes stood out in the dark, large even when they were half-open and dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks.

This boy was certainly different. Timor, thinking that it was rude to stare too long, turned his gaze back to the moon, which glowed in the darkness. He felt slumber slowly taking him into dreamland, but was jolted awake as he heard Hitsugaya's rough voice draw him out of his sleepy state.

"…I like looking at the night sky," Hitsugaya murmured quietly, lost in his thoughts.

Timor said nothing, just looked at the white-haired boy questioningly.

"It's peaceful, and I can think clearer when it's cold. Plus, at night, you can always wait for tomorrow to come. And when tomorrow comes, it's always a beautiful sight to behold. And…" Hitsugaya trailed off. He really never was one for conversations. The only two captains that talked less than he did were Kuchiki Byakuya and Komamura Sajin, who spent most of his time these days meditating in the 7th Division. And Kuchiki-taicho was also starting to warm up, seeing as he found Hisana's reincarnation in Rukongai and broke a few more rules bringing her into the Kuchiki family.

"And?" Timor prompted. He decided he'd taken a liking to the boy once he saw his fighting skills up close on the battlefield, and wished to know more. Which was why he'd asked the powerful shinigami about his favorite type of tea.

"…Ah. I just lost my train of thought."

"Aw, darn. I was looking forward to know you more."

"Hn. That's a first, really. I think…well…let's just…enjoy the peace while it lasts. Sooner or later…you won't get many chances like this when the battle starts."

"...Yeah," Timor breathed out softly.

"Yeah."

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

I hope you guys like this chapter! I don't write fight scenes often, so you could say this is my first try at one. I also didn't have much time to edit this chapter, seeing as school is starting and I wanted to update at least two more chapters in time for school, so yea. And when school comes around, expect updates about every 7 days or so. Weekly updates, let's hope. I've gotten all of the hardest teachers in junior high, and my junior high is the second in the entire state, so…bear with me! And I think I liked the last scene the best, the one with Timor and Hitsugaya, only because Timor is going to be an important factor in the story. I don't know about Jackson. He'll just be there, you know, but not exactly important. The other important characters are going to be Thirrin, Oskan, and Ichimaru, who I might write about in the next chapter…Maybe I should do one on the view of the Corsairs and Zephyrs, who knows…? But that's going to take a lot of thinking…okay, I'll stop rambling now. Oh, and _Mabuta o Akete_ means "Open your eyes" and _Kouman no Jigoku_ means "Pride of Hell," while _Gekido_ means "Wrath," and _Yumekage_ means "Dream Shadow." _Tenyume_ means "Heavenly Dream" or something along those lines. I know, stereotypical, yea? But my Japanese isn't very good, and yea.


	6. Deceptive Beauty

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Ahahahaha. What should I say…? Well, thanks to **CuteBlackCat**, **Lee0616**, **kbookworm3**, **ObsidianEbony**, and **nagalaOcean777** for reviewing and encouragement! Seriously, I probably would have died long ago if you all weren't there, thank you! Oh, and thanks to **Kai-Chan94** for favoriting, as well as **ObsidianEbony**! Yes! To nagalaOcean777: …oops. It must have been really weird, seeing yourself addressed as the anonymous-person-who-didn't-leave-a-name, right? Ah, and I wanted to say thank you so much for your encouragement and yes, I will keep updating as long as you do. Oh, and I kept on rereading the part about Shinso and the sky, because Ichimaru is really, really hard to write. Seriously. It took me so long to try to shape the dialogue in this particular chapter. And also, yes! I do like descriptions, they really help the big picture, you know? And I liked the last part too, I think I said that already too in the last Author's note. To Lee0616: Right, thank you for the tip. When you meant the one near the beginning, I assumed you meant the one about Hitsugaya and his sketchbook/journal. I tried to make the paragraphs shorter in this chapter, please tell me if I did okay. Oh, and to kbookworm3: Well, thank you XD I liked Imada's second shikai too; it took me a really long time to pester my dad on Japanese and meanings and all that stuff to come up with the name, and it took even longer thinking up shikai. My efforts did not go unnoticed! (Here, I start crying.) Well, in this chapter, it's rather short. Only 2,000 or so words, because it's on Ichimaru and the Corsairs and Zephyrs. I just felt like stuffing this part in, expect a pretty early update due to the fact that I spent about only a few thirty minutes on this thing and spent about an hour building up on it.

* * *

Declaimer: I do not own Bleach nor The Cry of the Icemark, but I do own this storyline.

**-Deceptive Beauty-**

The skies were stormy, white streaks of lightning flashing in its domain, clouds swirling overhead. Transparent rain droned on steadily, pattering on four hundred ships' decks, the wood planks dark brown and creaky with each step. Boots lightly padded on the deck as a wiry man leaned over the edge of one ship and looked down at the sea, all deep greens and grays and purple blues under a thin sheet of pale silver.

The ocean looked so incredibly peaceful encased under the sheen of frost, so alluring. However, the lanky man knew that it was not true, and that the water was churning madly underneath its cover, raging and trying to break its cover. And the man knew that when the waves came out, everyone on board would have one heck of a time trying to stay alive.

Deceptive beauty, it was.

"'Tis a fine-lookin' sight, ain't it, Ichimaru sir?"

Ichimaru tilted his face upwards to the rain, his pale hair plastered to his face, smiling that smile he had shown to Matsumoto as he left and the one he'd smiled as he felt relief at Kira being okay. The man behind him didn't notice as his foxy features softened momentarily.

"Ya, it's wonderful, really. Never had a sea, back in Seireitei."

The burly man who had commented on the scene looked pleasantly confused at the word 'Seireitei,' but continued to jabber away noisily in spite of his puzzlement.

"Er, Ichimaru sir, the Shipmaster's callin' ye. Better go'n'check up, ye know, before some'un gets shot in the head wit' a pistol. Notta very patient leader, Shipmaster is."

Ichimaru turned around with his eerie smile, and the burly man suppressed a shiver. Leaning backwards airily, the ever-grinning face said in that way of his, "Really, now?"

Looking back at the sea, Ichimaru's grin widened slightly. "Ya-re, ya-re. Seein' as I got no choice, better get goin' now, ne?" Coming out of the slouch he'd been positioned in, he walked past the stiff messenger man, wiping a few drops of rain out of his forever closed eyes, sliding his bony hands into his long, baggy navy sleeves. He'd taken to dressing like all the Corsairs and Zephyrs, but unlike the tight sleeved tops they preferred, he liked to stretch his sleeves until they were large enough to cover his hands like his shihakushou used to.

How nostalgic.

Sliding the door to the inner cabins open, he turned about halfway and called out mockingly, "Ah, by tha way, Mister Grumman? I think it's best if ya c'mon in sometime, 'cause ya'd catch a cold like that, 'nd I don' think tha Shipmaster's gonna be happy if tha firs' mate goes outta action just like that, ya know. We all know that tha Shipmaster's not very patient, mm?" There was a lightly chuckle, and the tough iron door clicked shut with a muffled clang as iron met wood once more.

The man who had been identified as Grumman cast a dark glare back in Ichimaru's supposed direction, and muttered an inaudible string of bad words under his breath. Casting another glance, though softened, at the sea before him, he made his way back into the cabin part of the ship as well, taking in a deep breath of salty sea air.

Ichimaru Gin, Grumman thought derisively, was an ally he hoped he'd never lay his eyes on again after the war.

* * *

Walking along the dim halls, Ichimaru's soggy boots made soft squelching sounds against the intricately patterned burgundy rug, sleeves sticking to his arms. Giving his wet head one last doggish shake to get the water out of his hair, he knocked once on the last door in the passageway.

"Ichimaru Gin here. Care ta open up, Shipmaster?"

He was greeted by a dark and fuming voice. "Open up the shitty door yourself, you shitty bastard. You're three minutes late!"

Pushing the door open, Ichimaru said in a light-hearted tone to the back of a dark leather chair, "Ya-re ya-re. We all know ya ain't a very patient person, _ma'am_, but three minutes only is a kinda short time, ne?"

Angrily, the chair whirled around, and a calloused hand gripped Ichimaru's collar, dragging him down. "Screw you," the teenage girl growled heatedly, and she flopped back down into her seat, full red lips set in a scowl.

"Ara! That was mean," Ichimaru said with another incomprehensible grin. "Lil' girls shouldn't go 'round cursing at people."

"I am _not_ a little girl, Gin Ichimaru." The Shipmaster tossed her long black hair back, yellow-hazel eyes flashing dangerously. Ichimaru did not fail to see her hand inch its way towards a pistol strapped to her left thigh.

"Ta a 315 year old person like me, ya are," the sopping wet man stated matter-of-factly. "Ya'll never catch up unless I go off 'n die on ya 'n get reincarnated, ya know. 'Sides, it's good ta be young, ya know. Enjoy life when ya got it."

The Shipmaster's face began glowering even more than ever, and then pointing at Ichimaru with her favorite pistol she'd named Blackhead after the person she looted it from, the girl spat, "I didn't call you here to argue your age with me, Gin, or how to act." (Note: Just so you know, Blackhead is the same gun that was strapped to her left leg.)

"I knew that, ya jus' looked real down in tha dumps, ya know. Saa, whatcha call me here for, mm?" Ichimaru leaned over the light brown desk that sat before the black chair, foxy smile ever the larger, hands slipped back into his sleeves.

"I called you here because I need to know exactly why your people withdrew from the ranks yesterday," the dark-haired female barked, eye twitching. "Why didn't they destroy the troops right before they left?! It would have been easier for all of us, Ichimaru! I don't know what you're thinking, but I expect a straight and honest answer for once!"

For a moment, Ichimaru considered opening his eyes. It always scared the heck out of people, and he supposed it was because he always kept his eyes closed. Most believed his eyes were a deep shade of red, but really, it was just a normal sapphire blue. Nothing to be horrified by, since many people had eyes like his. (Note: In the anime, Ichimaru's eyes are blood red, but when Kubo-sensei drew it, Ichimaru's eyes were blue.)

Deciding against opening his eyes and saving it as his trump card, he inclined his head closer to the demanding girl. Whispering deeply into her ear, he said, "Because their powers woulda interfered with each others', lil' girl, and it woulda attracted some unwanted visitors from where we're from." The Shipmaster, her body ignoring her protests, shivered at the feeling of his unexpectedly cold breath on her ear. Chuckling lightly, Ichimaru straightened and declared openly, all signs of seriousness gone, "And that's all there is ta it, Shipmaster. Now, if ya'll excuse me, I needta go potty real bad now." Wheeling around, he pushed the door open, and let it fall back into place by itself.

In the darkness of her now empty room, a diamond chandelier twisting above her head slowly, the black-haired leader snatched up a bottle of rum, drank it deeply, and choking on the alcohol, said, "The name's Damien, old man. Damien, got it!? Not lil' girl, not Shipmaster, just Damien the 17 year old leader of the Corsairs and Zephyrs. You better get that right the next time, you twisted fox."

She took another swig of the bitter liquid, and messily scrawling a message on a blotchy piece of paper, tied the note to a hawk that had been sitting on a stand nearby and kicked it out into the storm through her window, sending the message to the 399 other ships sitting on the ice-covered waters.

* * *

As Ichimaru made his way to the restroom –yes, he actually needed to go bathroom- Ichimaru mused over the lie he just told to the girl ruler, imbedding it into his brain.

_"Because their powers woulda interfered with each others', lil' girl, and it woulda attracted some unwanted…visitors from where we're from."_

The part about the power levels attracting unwanted visitors was true, since the reiatsu disturbance in a normally tranquil atmosphere with a few reiatsu bursts here and there would have prompted the Gotei 13 to send investigators to check out the sights of the reiatsu bursts and take note of the reiatsu. But no, the reiatsu levels and shikai definitely wouldn't have interfered with each other at all, because, unsurprisingly, the traitor shinigami were used to working together and plotting. They were used to watching each other's backs, now being wanted criminals.

Anyway, Ichimaru had actually told the spies in the Icemark's ranks to withdraw upon the sight of another shinigami, because if there was another shinigami from the Gotei 13, it obviously meant that Seireitei either caught on to his plan or that they suspected something. It could have all been a coincidence, the shinigami that popped up the day before, but once he found out that it was Hitsugaya Toshiro, not some unsuspecting idiot, he was glad that he'd issued the order.

Ichimaru Gin knew that Hitsugaya Toshiro, being a captain rank at that age, could finish off pretty much the entire traitor shinigami population if he unleashed his power. Plus, the deceptive man acknowledged that now with _Shiro-chan_ here, his plans had to take effect soon, or else he'd face another letdown. And another letdown would not be very motivating for his ranks. Yes, they were his ranks now, his and no one else's.

Moreover, there was another reason to Ichimaru wanting to make the shinigami withdraw instead of deal massive damage to the opposing forces.

To put it simply, the country of the Icemark was essential to Ichimaru's plans, and they couldn't kill more than 1,000,000 of their number, or else the plan would fail dismally, for they needed at least 3,000,000 people to fix up the plan. The Icemark's current population was 4, 200,000. The weakest shinigami each could take out an entire regiment, which equaled about 300 people. They had 200 traitor shinigami, and including him, they could take out too many to make him feel at ease.

Ah, he was thinking like Aizen now.

Waving aside several respectful shinigami who had bowed him off to the bathroom, Ichimaru repeated the thought that had disturbed him a little bit inside to Shinso. And Ichimaru Gin was not easily disturbed.

**We don' have much time left, m'friend.**

And not at all to Ichimaru's surprise, Shinso did not respond, the silence echoing in Ichimaru's inner world.

It had always been that way.

To most people, captain-level shinigami had to be able to communicate with their zanpakutous a lot.

But it was not so for Ichimaru.

Ichimaru liked to act alone.

And so did Shinso, shooting to kill only when his master called.

* * *

Coming out from the restroom, the smiling man went out onto the deck again, only to find that the rain had intensified instead of gone away. He slowly sidled his way back to the edge again, breathing in the fresh air, smelling like, well, rain and ice and the ocean.

Though he wasn't picky about what type of air he breathed, he liked the outside air the best, instead of the stuffy air inside.

It felt good to be free, really. Out of the reach of rules and all mental boundaries.

Midnight black shoes now slick with rain, he faced the sky and the ocean, catching the water in his sleeves, which billowed out into the wind. His dark skinny-jean-like pants kept his legs down like metal weights, but he didn't give a damn. The lightning flashed in the sky again, and this time, the first peal of thunder rang out over the ocean, booming and then rattling away into silence.

Ichimaru was quiet, his smile still plastered on his face.

He'd always been good at acting, he knew. It was a particular talent of his, he'd figured, and it was backed up by that natural aloofness of his. But sometimes, like when he'd saw Matsumoto's face with that broken expression, or when he'd felt Kira's presence and saw that he was doing well, he wanted to drop all pretenses. But it didn't feel natural, to drop his act. So he never did, and only occasionally he'd let the Ichimaru that was like Kira's father and the Ichimaru that was Matsumoto's childhood friend out again. But most of the time, he was acting his life out, seemingly watching everything that was happening from a point far away.

Noiselessly, he scaled the mizzenmast and sat high up, looking at the waters. Personally, he knew that something was wrong with his vision of the world. Not the part about power- he viewed himself as an opportunist rather than a person of extreme evil. No, he sensed that even with Aizen dead and gone, Aizen had left behind something.

Something by the name of Kyouka Suigetsu, or something along those lines.

Ichimaru was resourceful and clever, and he could drag out a whole story from a few specific sentences. It was rather useful when trying to intimidate a bunch of more violent 11th division deserters and get a true story for why there was a mangled corpse of an unfortunate Corsair hanging on the starboard side.

The pale-haired man didn't know what to think, really.

He was still trying to break past whatever Aizen left behind, and was unfazed by the fact that he couldn't really destroy that _something_ with his current abilities.

And he also didn't know what to think about Hitsugaya Toshiro suddenly popping up when things were just about to get interesting.

He didn't feel any animosity to the 10th's taicho; in fact, he was rather impressed by the fact that o'chibi-chan actually managed to defeat a man with twice the normal reiatsu of a captain. But he was also sure that the only three people in all of the universes that he would ever let himself get killed by were Matsumoto, Kira, and oddly enough, Hitsugaya. Maybe it was because Hitsugaya had less hate for him than for Aizen, and maybe it was because of the look Hitsugaya gave him right before he left the battlefield.

The look clearly read, _"I'll find you. I'll find you, and kill you."_

Ichimaru had returned the look by slightly opening his eyes, sending back the message, _"I'll hold you to that, o'chibi-chan."_

An injured bird flew by, its wings battered by the turbulent winds, the one lame wing it had dragging it down. Ichimaru was sure that the bird would have a slow death on the ice below, full of suffering.

A quick death rather than a slow one would be better suited to a creature of the skies.

His bony hands found the hilt of Shinso, who hung on his studded belt. They traced over the smooth and circular guard, and quietly, he drew Shinso, and called out his name.

"Ikorose, Shinso." The silver blade of Shinso extended with an incredible speed.

The bird flying by did not have a chance.

Ichimaru watched as the sleek body, now bloodstained, fell to the ice below, the frost hissing as the warm crimson liquid flooded over it.

The ocean was a view of all deep greens and grays and purple blues under a thin sheet of pale silver, a large splotch of an ominous maroon standing out in the more solemn colors.

Deceptive beauty, indeed.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Well, what did I say? It's a rather unimportant chapter, but it explains a few things and drags the 'bad guys' into the view a bit more. And I personally will not be surprised by only one review for this chapter, because it's not really that good, I rushed it. It's because school is starting on Wednesday, and I wanted to get a few more chapters up just in case, you know. Haha. Wish me luck, people out there. Eh, and I once again thank nagalaOcean777 for writing about Ichimaru and helping me understand his behavior and actions better. I couldn't have written this chapter without you.


	7. The First Hand

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

…It has been a while, I apologize sincerely. I tried to make this chapter long, and introduced a ton of characters as well as diving deeper into their personalities and the sort, because after the action there has got to be a peaceful time before they drown in the tar pit I'm going to throw them into. There's going to be a ton of OC's, because in the first book, there aren't many specific characters mentioned other than the werewolves, vampires, and all that stuff in the first book, and in the second- well, this takes place between the first and second book, so the Icemark doesn't even know most of the people in the second book, because the second book centers on Thirrin's kid going around and making new allies and fulfilling prophecies. Many thanks to all those who reviewed: I don't really have time to write your names up here, but you all know who you are. I've got 10 favorites on this story now, and am really proud of it. Most of the reviewers are anonymous, for some reason though. And I'm sorry if this chapter is not up to your expectations. It's just a lead on. I would put more, but I think the other part needs to be in another chapter.

* * *

Declaimer: I do not own Bleach nor The Cry of the Icemark, but I do own this storyline.

**-The First Hand-**

"NO."

"Come on, you have to attend! It's just a celebration, and a masquerade at that! Beside, the Icemark has had precious little to celebrate recently, and the defeat of that guy yesterday –Imada, right?- is a cause of celebration! You're the one who overpowered that Imada, so you've got to come! And, like I've learned from someone, you should always take happiness whenever you can get it!" gushed an overenthusiastic flame-haired girl, temporarily out of her normal shield of authority and playing the part of a growing teenage lass, allowing herself to be a little bit more normal for once.

Thirrin beamed, her face lighting up Hitsugaya's quarters. Oskan rubbed the bridge of his nose thoughtfully. In the middle of the Polypontian War, when he'd decided to become one with the Light instead of the Dark, he'd cheerily informed Thirrin that happiness should get taken wherever and whenever it could be found. Joy was something to be cherished and shared. However, standing clad in his pajamas and loose stockings, early in the morning of January 27th, Oskan had never imagined his words would be used against the one and only shinigami in Frostmarris to persuade him to attend a ball.

The said shinigami twitched violently, a vein violently throbbing in his forehead, hands folded tightly around his thin chest clad in the dark yukata from the night before.

"NO WAY am I attending whatever a 'masquerade' is. And even if I were to attend, why in the WORLD must I wear THAT?!" An angrily shaking finger raised itself to point at the offending garment pleadingly held three feet away from him.

"Oh, this?" Thirrin asked, grey eyes glittering dangerously with an emotion Hitsugaya refrained to comment on. "It'll look wonderful on you!"

Two piercing teal eyes widened to the size of a milk saucer. "…What?!"

Indeed, a bubble-gum pink tunic hung in the enthusiastic Queen's hands, the subject of all the vicious glares from the Juuban tai taicho.

It wasn't that Hitsugaya hated pink especially. He'd wear it if he had to, and it was often enough with Matsumoto doing all the shopping for him right before a mission in the city of Karakura. She'd often insisted it looked cute on him, and he'd grudgingly worn the color when Matsumoto threatened to post pictures of him when he was a little kid all over Seireitei.

Curse the stupid Shinigami Academy record with his childhood pictures. No, curse the person who submitted the blasted photos in the first place. And most of all, Hitsugaya Toshiro was not cute, of all things.

But bubble-gum pink?!

No way in hell would he be seen in that. Even far beyond Matsumoto and her Polaroid cameras, he didn't feel safe wearing bright colors.

Plus, Hitsugaya Toshiro was not a child. Hitsugaya Toshiro could not afford to act like a child, and didn't want to anyway. Hitsugaya Toshiro was a serious, hard-working, self-respecting shinigami of the highest rank possible, and he was not to be taken lightly.

Besides, he'd had too many encounters with Kusajishi Yachiru and crayons to be fond of pink anyway.

Oskan snorted loudly and mouthed sympathetically at Hitsugaya over Thirrin's silver tunic-clad shoulder. "There's nothing I can do! Whenever she's like this, it's fatal to resist."

The white-haired prodigy simply glowered, an ominous aura collecting around him.

Oskan shrugged offhandedly, and worded at him again. "I warned you."

"-And pink's an absolutely ravishing color, a masquerade's supposed to have people stand out you know, but not just for the face and the way you look! A masquerade's a masked ball, you know, where you wear masks? Please-"

Hitsugaya interrupted icily. "NO. Even if it's a 'masked ball,' they'll all know who I am as soon as you introduce me to them later today because of my hair color."

Oskan and Thirrin exchanged glances, and the former gave a terribly wolfish grin.

"Ah, but that's all taken care of! We sent a message around saying that you, ah, postponed your arrival for now, and when you do arrive, you're going to wear a hat."

"ABSOLUTELY NOT."

Thirrin sighed lowly, eyes resting on the silently fuming tuft of white hair, killing intent radiating off the demanding four feet four inches.

Ruefully, she sighed again, her deep breath filling out her chest and blowing a loose strand of fiery red hair out of her face. Tucking the thin piece of hair behind her ear, she delicately asked, "Then, pray, what are you going to do? Oskan and I can keep at this for hours, and you'll just keep refusing. Are we going to stand here for the next couple of hours and wait for seven o'clock to arrive?"

Oskan's eyebrows traveled higher and higher up in his forehead. The one-eighty in the attitude was unexpected, but he'd never understand Thirrin completely anyway- she was so complex and moody, and her decisions never failed to surprise him at the ingenuity of them.

He'd always mourn the fact that he could never understand her completely, however.

Shaking his head unexpectedly like a shaggy dog, he looked at Hitsugaya, who now looked rather pensive and extremely ticked off at the same time, with two veins instead of one pulsing on his forehead. He gave Thirrin another glance, and the Witchfather to-be noticed that the two were having a rather intense staring match, Hitsugaya seemingly winning.

Thirrin gave a huff and spun on her heel, marching towards the door in a scary representation of a very spoiled girl who just gave up a fight. Just before her hand touched the doorknob, Hitsugaya's voice cut through the air gruffly. Oskan stifled a smirk. Plan A was working fine. Really, no one liked to make a girl mad like what Thirrin just did, and the Queen was a girl who was obviously no exception to that unspoken rule.

"I'll go to your freaking ball," he swallowed thickly. "I'll go to your freaking ball if I don't have to wear that obnoxious thing in your hands and I'll wear the cape from yesterday instead." His hand jabbed irritably in the direction of the black cloth, draped over the mantle of the hearth in his room, the ice on it having not quite melted, a cold puddle on the floor.

In a split second, Thirrin's attitude of a sore loser disappeared and she grinned that memorable smile that Hitsugaya would always see on Zaraki's subordinates in the middle of a life or death battle.

Oskan's face mirrored the feisty Queen's expression, and Hitsugaya felt that familiar sinking sensation in his stomach that always came when something that Matsumoto would probably do would come up. The young captain thought of it as his sixth sense, and it had never failed him yet.

Which was why he was feeling queasy all of a sudden.

"What." It was a statement, not a question. No, correction, it was more like a command.

The twosome exchanged a meaningful but fleeting look, and Oskan chuckled lightly.

"You promptly played into our hands, Hitsugaya. We've planned for you to wear the cloak all the while," the tall man- yes, man, not boy; he'd dropped that title a long time ago- explained. "That's why we picked out the creepiest color in the universe and seemed so out of character. The mouthing was to make you feel even more rebellious so Thirrin could pull off her "Angry and Self-centered Queen Act," and it always makes the victim- in this case, you- give in. Ingenious, isn't it? Oh yea, we knew that you'd refuse to go to ball, and you'd probably refuse to wear the cloak if we hadn't taken this approach- you'd not want the people to immediately think, 'Oh, it's that person from yesterday,' sort of thing, mm? You'd want to stay out of the big picture for now until sometime before the war, but we think they should be able to recognize you and say 'Thanks' to you, you know?"

Thirrin cut in, "We just used your stubbornness against you, that's all. The entire beginning was ad-lib, so Oskan could pull off his look of exasperation more easily, see."

Oskan snickered. "But, Thirrin, you really need to improve your acting a bit; when you were attempting to be hyper, it was just like you getting a ton of new shield bosses and a new axe for your Yuletide, seriously. And then the complete change in attitude was a bit too early, but it worked anyway, so it's all okay."

The two looked expectantly at the diminutive tensai, and Thirrin laughed, slapping her knee. "Isn't it amazing? All it took was a hand reaching towards the doorknob, and then you gave in! Completely up to our calculations though, if I must be honest with you."

Hitsugaya's mind started short-circuiting on him.

He began almost slowly. "So…you were planning this all along? No, wait-"

His mind came back at full blast, and the full implication of the events beforehand smacked in harshly in the face exactly like it did when he found out that he couldn't get into the office because a flood of more paperwork had blocked the door.

"YOU WERE PLANNING THIS ALL ALONG?!"

Hitsugaya swore he would be plagued by nightmares of the wicked smiles that had planted themselves to their faces, the royal twosome radiating pure, 100 unadulterated evil.

* * *

Breathing softly on his frozen fingers, Timor watched as the people preparing tonight's masquerade staggered by under the weight of the decorations, the people managing the festivities looking incredibly hassled as time slowly trickled by like sand in an hourglass, rushing by and waving their arms animatedly to signal where to hand the next ornament. Jackson was sitting on the frozen ground, resting on his haunches, both elbows resting on his knees, the lower part of his arm thrust out. Timor leaned back against the frozen stone wall they were next to, and rubbed his red fingers together to keep the circulation up.

Timor, like Jackson, was girl-hunting.

Well, more specifically, Jackson probably was waiting for a certain young lady to pop up. There was a new girl added into the ranks a few months before, and it only took her two weeks to gain the notorious title of the best new female recruit in the army, though she was still no match for the generals, captains, and lieutenants, not to mention most of the members in the selected training squads. But, she was beautiful, with long dark locks of dark black and shocking eyes the enchanting color of pale hazel. She had a taunting and delicate mouth, with some sort of surprise seeming to lurk around the dimple in her left cheek when she smiled, few light freckles dotting her cheeks. She was, undoubtedly, a true country girl: naïve, innocent, and carefree, different from those in the city who wear corsets and suck in their stomachs to make themselves slimmer.

Her name was Marta of the Rocky Summits. Her family was the only family on the Rocky Summits, a tall imposing mountain range, so they really didn't need anything else to distinguish them from the usual crowd, standing out with their light eyes, pale skin, and dark hair. Black hair deeper than midnight as theirs was rare in the Icemark; people were mostly blonds or auburns or redheads or really dark-haired brunettes here. Those who did have black hair had a shade a bit more brown than Marta's family. The Rocky Summits family was often seen sledding down to the village down the slopes, occasionally floating lazily down on a fancy contraption they called a hang glider. To make their way up, they rode a horse that they'd borrow from the main village. There were also rumors of them being the descendants of some snow spirit, the kind that is warm but so cold and distant at the same time. It's a trait of the Rocky Summits family, and it appeared in Marta ever so well- she was like a butterfly with the wings already stretched out to the sky or a floating piece of that fluffy white seed of a wild dandelion. All the time, she was just a hair's breadth away, dancing within your desiring reach, but as soon as you lunged for the catch, she'd gracefully spin out of the way again, teasingly smiling that one of a kind smile that made you feel jubilee and yet somehow broken inside.

As soon as Marta and Jackson had met, it was sort of like a spark. Jackson had called her a skinny kid with a weird temperament, and Marta had taken her boot off and whacked him really hard, slamming him into a far wall and giving him a large bruise on the back of his head. They'd then gotten into an argument right then and there, but made up soon enough with her stalking away with the rest of the new recruits when the recruits were called up and he yelled at her just as she turned the corner, asking for her name.

She'd smiled that one of a kind smile then, and the dimple appeared. She did not leave him an answer, and granted him just a laugh.

It had been weeks after when she popped up in one of the two best friends' conversations, and someone passing by had slipped into their conversation and given her name.

Jackson apparently had never met someone like this Marta before, but the meeting seemed to make the fire that Timor had always known to be burning inside him flare out larger. His best friend could be seen training in hand to hand combat and in swordsmanship daily, trying to win in superiority to the new recruit.

Timor had to give Jackson the credit for now drawing closer and closer to a promotion. Sooner or later, he wouldn't just be a footsoldier anymore- he'd probably be a part of a squad with extra special training and supervision by some of the generals. He'd be a major, more like.

Of course, Timor did not want to be left behind, and was going to do everything it took to reach Jackson's level. Jackson wanted to prove himself to the world, and so Timor was going to too.

He tugged his black scarf around his neck tighter, nodding at a group of giggling commoners who'd decided to attend. Most of the villagers were set to come, anyway; the Queen had issued for some money for other luxuries to be donated to the villages, and several of the families spent it on fanciful outfits for the party tonight. Timor didn't really know what to wear, seeing as he didn't have many bright outfits. He'd always preferred dark colors as opposing to bright ones. He supposed it was because his father liked dark hues as well, and seeing as he looked nothing like his father except for his straight nose, he picked up on the habit as well.

Timor spotted a group of good-looking girls making their way by, but failed to make enough of a distraction to catch their eyes.

He breathed in the chilling air and wished girl-hunting could be far easier.

* * *

Jackson shifted uncomfortably in his crouched position, dark brown eyes searching the courtyard for that familiar skinny figure that had that way of walking like on a tightrope, left in front of right, right in front of left, as if one wrong move would send her falling to whatever depths were below that tightrope she was walking on. He gave his head a twitch, shaking his bangs out of his eyes again.

He didn't understand why she- Marta of the Rocky Summits- intrigued him so much. Maybe it was because he'd never met someone like her, or maybe the way she seemed so untouchable, and that he wanted to prove that he could break past the fragile-looking but seemingly flawless and unbreakable glass wall that made it seem like she was in another dimension completely, like the people around her were just paper figures and she was the reality, truth, and the wholeness of the universe.

The brown-haired teenager fisted his left hand, and flexed it, watching as the sinewy muscles of his hand, very callused from working and training, stretched and wrinkled. He wondered whether her hands were like his, and shook his head again to get the bangs out of his eyes, and to erase her smile from his mind.

There was something different about that smile, and for good or for bad he didn't know.

He clenched his hand again, and noticed a little cut along the side of his palm. It was slight, and wasn't anything deep, but just like a paper-cut, it was annoying.

Noticing Timor looking wistfully in the direction of a few girls, he laughed lightly underneath his breath. "Tim, if you really want to get a girl, then go and barge in."

His best friend since they were the age of seven looked at him with exasperation coloring his thin features. "Jack, it's not that easy."

Jackson returned his gaze to the entrance of the courtyard, still waiting for that skinny figure.

"…Che. If you can't get a girl, then meet up with one later."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Timor nod almost imperceptibly, and closed his eyes lightly, burying his nose in his bright red scarf his mother had sent to him last week, smelling the familiar scent of fullness, the scent only a mother can have, reminding you of a warm bowl of milk set in front of a fireplace, the whiteness reflecting bits of flames. He felt the soft texture of the cross-stitches that his mother's hands had so carefully knitted together for him, and his own hand twitched lightly.

Jackson waited.

* * *

A thin figure stepped into the courtyard, pale eyes roaming over the people literally teleporting from one corner to the other in their hurry. Small feet put themselves left in front of right, right in front of left, like walking a tightrope. A deep blue sweater, swirling grey scarf and a soft white vest adorned the figure, long black pants completing the image of cold snow and stormy skies, light white boots soundless on the stones.

Jackson's closed eyes snapped open, his eyes rigged to the figure.

Light pink lips curved upwards in welcome as a certain footsoldier ran to her, a dimple in the left cheek, and it escalated into a melodious laugh as the person slowly drew to a shuddering halt, panting and complaining about how she did not give her name sooner.

As the girl turned around, her hair flying into the wind, going to do whatever she was going to do, Jackson reached out a hand.

He shouted out a question, so loudly so that it echoed into the sky, its strong tone swirling up and tearing into the sky.

A look of shock imbedded her face, and then it was swiped clean and she gently removed her hand from his grasp, and Jackson's hand thudded to his side like lead.

She turned her back to him and continued her weird way of walking, left over right, right over left, and slowly, she turned around just as she began to turn at the corner, and there was that familiar expression they always saw her wearing, except there was a strange look to it.

The answer to Jackson's yelled question was a yes.

Timor smiled almost unnoticeably, and when his madly grinning best friend finally regained usage of his muscles and moved from the center of the courtyard, where he had frozen as the full implication of her answer hit him in the face.

As Jackson ran towards Timor, whooping and screaming about how great he was, there was a comforting thought that crossed Jackson's mind.

Marta of the Rocky Summits was ever so close, and he just found out that she was probably not all that untouchable.

After all, he'd just grabbed her hand, hadn't he?

…Well, anyway, it was a start.

* * *

Janice Fowler stalked irritably through the marketplace, tossing her curly brown hair behind her back, cursing the day that the Lords of Valhalla decided to give her such unmanageable hair. She was a farm girl, and hair that was messy like hers was something undesirable. A roughly woven reed basket hanging on her right arm, she marched up to Jim Yasley's food stall, grabbing few berry preserves and tossing a couple bronze coins onto his counter, which clattered noisily on the wood. Jim Yasley, a broad, buff sort of man, nodded understandingly at Janice and backed away as her temper made her slightly plump form seem like an angry witch, and angry witches were kept away from.

Janice Fowler was someone you never wanted to reckon with when she was angry, and angry she was at this moment.

She was searching for a certain Jackson Paters, a childhood friend of hers, and he was nowhere to be found in the village. She hadn't seen him in such a long time, and though she'd never say it to him unless it was a life or death situation, Janice missed him terribly.

He'd gotten himself a goal, she could tell, and always slept in the barracks so he could get up early and train in the yards. Jackson had come to her house a few times, though, to get medical treatment. Her mother, the midwife, had been horrified when she saw Jackson's hands. He'd trained to the point where the skin was raw and blistered, parts of his palm bleeding profusely, and he'd refused to give a reason why. Mrs. Fowler had been wise not to question Jackson further, seeing the look in his eyes, and quietly bandaged his hands and sent him on his way with a present from his mother, who was sleeping at the moment.

Janice could read Jackson's every movement, could tell what every little thing he did meant. Flexing his hand and looking at it meant he was thinking really hard, the tension in his chest building up meant he was getting oh so furious; breathing in deeply meant he was feeling rather dull or decisive, and so on so forth.

Of course, she only noticed these things because she was in love with Jackson Paters, the infernal idiot he was.

She didn't know when, where, and why- she just did. It was just one of those sort of things that came back and made you realize things, though you never really knew how you knew.

...

Janice wished she never liked Jackson, but she had no choice in the matter. It burned so much to see him around other females, and she was on the verge of committing suicide when she saw him smile at the other girls as well. It was consuming, and wasn't going to let go of her anytime soon.

Janice Fowler knew it.

There was also a ball tonight. A masked ball, for heavens' sake, but it was her chance to make a move. She'd bought a rather flashy dress from the money the Queen actually decided to distribute- what a waste of money, Janice thought, but she was grateful and wasn't going to complain straight to the Queen- it was blood red with a dark black bodice and a smooth, rustling black train, coming with a matching crimson mask that fit snugly on her face, black and blue feathery plumage, and she had dark silk gloves that reached her elbows. It was a daring choice, dark and flamboyant, but it matched her perfectly. She liked to think of herself as a grounded fire, and Jackson the tremulous wind that kept her burning.

But it would have all come to waste if Jackson asked someone else instead of her, who'd been there through all his childish disappointments and stuff like that.

Her hands clenched on the basket momentarily, but then loosened. He'd never ask anyone else, she comforted herself. He'd always go to me first, like he did when he came back from training.

Jackson Paters would, because it was what he always did.

"Oi!! Oi!! Janice!!"

The curly-haired girl whirled around. "Jackson!!" she laughed, flashing him a bright smile. Putting her hands on her slightly chubby waistline, tucking a strand of her loose hair behind her ear, she demanded, "You old lump! Coming to my house in the dead of the night, hands bleeding up a storm- mercy, you nearly gave me a heart attack a few days ago! So, what's up? You look happy."

Jackson indeed was, his ears flushed a light healthy pink that was definitely signifying he'd done something worthwhile.

She watched attentively as Jackson blew his bangs out of his eyes, running a hand through his hair. "Oh, yea. Oh, yea," he repeated, eyes slightly out of focus. "I think I just did the thing that is going to seriously change my life forever. No, scratch that- I think I just did really, really good. You know, like good meaning awesome and, well, good. You should have seen the other guys' faces when I told them, they didn't think I could do it," he claimed proudly, his movements loose and animated. His blue eyes drew Janice in and she nearly lost herself in the sapphire depths when he spoke eagerly.

"You want to know what I did?" There was a soppy, happy smile on his face.

Janice looked at him curiously and grinned. "Of course I do, you dolt," she cried, "I'm proud of whatever achievement you did, see! You're my childhood pal, after all, right?"

Jackson gave her an appreciative look. "You're awesome, Janice. Well, you've heard of the Rocky Summits family? They don't really come down to these parts, but one of them got recruited into the militia."

She loved him too much, really. It was far too destroying.

"Really? Was your achievement beating him? Was he good? Odin, you've got to introduce me to him sometime!"

Come on, Janice urged. Say you will show me to him, and I'll say introduce me to him if you see him at the masquerade, and then you'll ask me to go with you-

The brown-haired footsoldier gave her a strange look. "Janice," he said incredulously, "Didn't you know? The new soldier's a girl."

Her heart sunk a bit, but she still felt a bit light-headed, she was always like that around Jackson. "Oh, okay then! But you beat her, right? Congratulations-"

"No, I didn't beat her," he interrupted, eyes concerned. "Are you sure you're alright? You've been rattling on about some competition or something, it's not like you."

When she shook her head and beamed up at him, the tall teenager sighed.

"Seriously, Jan, you're really out of it today. Well, the recruit's name is Marta; we met a few months before, around Yuletide. She's a real beauty, and she's just like her family, you know- just sort of always out of your reach. She punched me straight into the wall when I kind of teased her in the beginning and made a sort of rude comment-"

The short farm girl snorted. "That's just so like you, Jackson-"

"But then there was a sort of spark thing, you know-"

Janice froze.

"-And then today I finally got the nerve to go ask her to the masquerade, see, and then she started walking away-"

Janice relaxed.

"-But then she turned around and said yes!" he whooped excitedly, pumping a fist into the air. "Can't you believe it!? I actually got a Rocky Summits girl to go with me!! It's the apocalypse, but I could care less!!"

Her dark brown eyes searching his face, Janice felt her world tumbling out of place. Sticking on a false smile, she said in a horrible voice, "Oh, of course Jackson! It's wonderful."

Jackson's brow knitted together. "What's wrong, Jan? Oh, did you get a partner for the dance yet? Timor doesn't have one yet, do you want to go with him?"

"No, it's fine," she said tightly, eyes screwed up in her grin. "Sorry, the sun's too bright today."

Brushing up her skirt, she flounced by and called back, not looking over her shoulder, "Sorry, Mom's waiting for the preserves for lunch! I'll see you later then!!"

Jackson stood in the market, looking after her, and shook his head.

"…Jan, what's wrong with you…"

"…The sun is behind a bunch of clouds right now."

Running down the rough path to her house, ignoring the plants she trampled over, Janice burst through the door, her eyes still closed tightly, auburn lashes tickling her cheeks. Casually dropping the basket on the dinner table, she called to the kitchen, "Mom, I've got the preserves. My friends asked me to go with them to see if Mary can get a boy to ask her out, I'll be going with them, okay?"

Janice ran upstairs, her feet thudding loudly on the staircase, skidding to a precarious and noisy halt at the end of the dim hallway. Forcing her door open, she fell onto her bed, the door slamming behind her.

"Janny, darling? I thought you said you were going out, are you alright?"

She removed her face from its plant in her pillow.

"I'm just wonderful, Mom! Just getting some stuff, I'm going to climb out the window now!!" she mimed, throwing a chair out of her window into the far bushes.

"Janny! I told you not to climb out the window- oh, drat, you've done it again, Janice Fowler!" her mother roared. Janice knew her mom had fallen for it. If there was something she was good at, she was wonderful at acting and pretending. There was no one as good at her at completely hiding her emotions and putting on another face.

"I'm just wonderful," she murmured into her pillow, blowing out the candle she'd left on in her room. Silence flooded the room, now dark with no light and no sun to brighten it up. A dark red and black dress lay in the corner, lying unused on a chair. She wanted to turn her gaze from the dark dress, but it seemed to be glued to the dangerous beauty of it. Sitting up, she walked over unsteadily towards the fancy outfit, and held it up against herself, admiring the smooth texture of the dress and the airy sensation it made around her legs, the way its perfection contrasted with the rough cotton she was wearing.

The red burned into her vision, still standing out in the blackness of the world around her.

She looked at her hands, rough from working in the fields and hauling buckets of water around. Lightly picking up the black gloves from the chair as well, she pulled them on, watching as her hands seemed to turn into those of a graceful lady's.

Silence breached the room, and Janice's eyes twinkled with an emotion no one likes to feel.

The hard-working girl breathed.

"I'm just wonderful."

The hard-working girl was going to become a lady tonight.

She breathed out.

"…Just wonderful."

* * *

Striding purposefully through the halls of Frostmarris's fortress, Captain Magnus James Norrington waved aside a bunch of soldiers looking for tips on how to win over a woman's heart.

His paces were long, powerful, and quick, confidence oozing off of his every gesture.

He had better things to do than tutor a bunch of puppies and teach them how to run, after all.

He'd already gotten a girl to go with him to the masquerade. It only took a few words, and then she agreed instantly. The girl was a fine catch, even for a master seducer like himself, being the one and only Amelie Reginald, one of the ten generals at the age of twenty-one. She was only three months younger than he was, and could easily lop off his head if she paid mind to. Magnus knew that if she ever took a disliking to him, even during his last moments, she'd be some sight, long chestnut locks framing her face, green-brown eyes flashing with bloodlust.

Magnus laughed quietly to himself as he sought her out in her quarters, seeing as he always paid girls a visit whenever he could. Since Amelie was his dance partner, of course she was one of the top on his list. She even agreed to go with him when he was a well-known player, saying that she wanted to see what other women found attractive in him.

What a woman, indeed.

His hand traced the intricate patterns on her door, and he drew out a white rose from his pocket, ignoring the pain the thorns drew in his hands.

"Amelie," he whistled through the crack in the door. "Amelie, it's Magnus."

A loud crash resounded in the room, and a curse came out the window.

"Ah, fu- Damn you, Magnus! You scared the shit out of me! I told you I'd go with you, but it's not an excuse to go around and bother me all the time!"

Magnus stopped a smile, and lightly set the rose on the doormat, careful not to let any blood drip onto the soft piece of beige carpet.

He had to give into grinning, however, as he saw the words he saw inscribed on the mat.

"This is Amelie Reginald's house. If you came here without any important message or something like that, then run for it because I've got better things to do than chase away condemned closet perverts who've just come out of hiding."

Chuckling, he knocked once more on the door, and stalked away, hearing her run for the door.

Magnus didn't notice the light droplet of red he left on her white door, his hand in his pocket.

He also didn't notice the light droplet of red on the door roll off the paint and fall on the pristine white rose, staining a petal.

When Amelie opened the door, the captain was gone, the wind clinging to his clear scent of pine and mint, as well as the scent of rose and the coppery taste of a little bit of blood.

On the doormat, a pure white rose with a droplet of red on one petal lay innocently.

Red on white.

"What a man," Amelie murmured, picking up the rose and looking at it. Turning her line of sight towards the direction Magnus was seen to disappear in, she held her fluffy white robe around her even closer, wiggling her feet in her felt slippers to keep them warm.

"I think I know now, Magnus."

The door closed shut with a quiet, whispering sigh.

* * *

General Charles Horton Murphy lay on his couch by the fireside, feet resting in the iron pot at his feet, steaming water wafting up in curls. Breathing out of his pipe, he cracked his spine and groaned.

"Ooh, me back!" he growled lowly. "Old age's catchin' up, I kin see it whackin' me in the face. Nah, more like the nose. It's always the nose they pinch," the elderly man muttered crankily, "Always the nose. Don't they know it hurts even after they pinch? Gives me one helluva time, grrmm."

Charles Horton breathed out of his pipe, the smoke forming O rings. The dimness of the room was natural for Charles Horton, the only light the fireplace. Shadows caressed the wrinkled face and the scarred nose, as well as the one silvery eye that the man had. The other eye simply wasn't there- it was like the skin over the eye had been stretched tight over it and sealed it shut.

Charles Horton exhaled deeply, a low guttural exhale that rattled in his throat, twisted and scarred, branded with a four-pointed star with a little circle between the left point and the top point.

He'd heard of the masquerade this evening, and of course he was going to attend.

The food was definitely going to be something.

He opened his one eye, the silvery color of it reflecting the sparkling flames.

That wasn't the only reason why he was attending, though.

The person from yesterday was going to be there. The person no taller than a ten or twelve year old child, but with the extreme level of power was going to be there.

Charles Horton believed with all his heart that the person, whoever he was- it was definitely a he, with the sound of that voice- was going easy on the traitor. It would be an interesting experience, meeting with someone like that.

The water in the iron pot stopped steaming, and Charles Horton stopped smoking to look disapprovingly at the water.

"Jeebus," he grumbled, "Don't go outtan me, stupid water. Heatdup already."

When the water proved to be unresponsive and it turned cold, Charles Horton reached over to the other pot heating up over the fireplace and unceremoniously yanked it off, sloshing hot water all over the floor.

"Drat."

He let the bucket fall onto the floor and flopped his mottled feet back into the pot, sighing as the heat crept up his old ankles.

"Aye, that's it. That's it," he sighed, his big tangled white beard splayed over his chest. "That's the spirit. Keep that up and I won't curse at you no more, gottit?"

There was a light purr in the room, and Charles Horton cracked open his eye. "Eh? What was that?"

Primplepuss, the royal cat, sauntered in, purring as she wrapped around his feet.

"Ah, come to pay an old crotchety boot a visit?" he muttered, reaching down to pick up the fluffy tabby. Primplepuss meowed, shifting on his large stomach. "Hey, don't sink yer claws into me here, they're sharpish and they hurt some."

Charles Horton's large hand stroked the cat thoughtfully, and he drifted off into sleep, snoring loudly. Primplepuss snuggled contentedly.

Purrs were heard from the room.

The water from the spilled pot of water slowly crept towards the bright flames like a cool hand waiting to make its move, and the fire went out.


	8. Awkward Reunions: RSS II

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Argh, I really don't think I'm going to make it HisagixOC, I've come up with far too many OC's to make me feel really comfortable. Well, back to Soul Society again. Eh, and it just hit me- in the manga's negative chapters, does the chapter number mean the number of years it took before the original timeline started? Because if it does, it means Hitsugaya hasn't even reached his first century yet, because when he started the Academy he was young even in soul standards, so…damn. Meep.

* * *

Declaimer: I do not own Bleach nor The Cry of the Icemark, but I do own this storyline.

**-Awkward Reunions-**

It was a black darkness; completely emotionless, unfeeling, and bone-crushingly cold.

Hisagi Shuuhei could not feel anything.

His chest twisted, convulsed in some sort of painless, terrible agony.

There was an endless screeching in his ears, like static. Oddly enough, he wasn't scared of anything anymore. He'd been losing things he'd known even in his unknowingness, yes, but it was to his frustration- however, frustration wasn't an emotion he could feel. It was just a hint of a far-away remembrance, a word that seemed somehow familiar and yet unfamiliar that resided in his vocabulary. He could still tell that hands held his faithfully, but now, growing more accustomed to his state than it was before, he could tell that there were several different hands holding his at different times- some were distinctly feminine, and others were rough and callused male hands. But they all radiated the same thing, a warm yet cold feeling, strong yet fragile, and he wanted to know more about what he'd lost, what was in store for him when he awoke, what the hands wanted from him.

Unusual feelings enveloped him, but all the same, he felt apathetic. Of course, there'd be no apathetic in a world with no emotion, for all the good it did him in his coma. Nonetheless, it was comforting to know about something in the place he'd left behind unwillingly, just to help him on the way.

There was a name that kept tearing at whatever was left of his consciousness. It slipped through the something that represented his hands; it evaded the something that was his mind. Whatever the name was, it faded away slowly, that one splotch of white against the darkness, out of place. He reached out for it, groping around in the nothingness, knowing it was important, knowing that as soon as he caught it, somehow he'd find out who he was again, what he was doing, what was happening around him.

The voice that kept intoning the same name slipped by, but he caught the rough breathy sound for a mere second, and it was enough. The word tasted oddly on his tongue, if anything could taste oddly- it was like a faint reminder.

**Kaze-**

**Kaze…?**

What did wind have to do with this?

He demanded for release again, shouting out the word kaze over and over again in his mind though he didn't really know what it was supposed to do anyway. He fought with nothing but his determination, the only thing that he could use. Without the name, he was a shell. Though, anyone who didn't know who he was, of course, is not an "anyone," he is more of a no one, because without an identity or personality, "anyone" is just a term, just another nothing in your life.

He twisted in his coma, oblivious to the shouts that soon accompanied his sharp movement, his heart rate irregular and wounds splitting open.

_"-Unohana-taicho! Hurry, Hisagi-fukutaicho-"_

Jet black eyebrows knitted together, the breathing extremely labored, fingers twitching, outside of the bitter void the owner was in mentally. The skin was pallid and the hair had grown out slightly from its short messy cut, not too unlike Shiba Kaien's style. His face had matured somewhat, out from a high schooler's image into that of an eighteen or seventeen year old man. Hands suddenly hold his in an act of anxiety, squeezing them and trying to coax him into awakening. Female hands, he realizes with a thrill.

**I can recognize it.**

_"-Prepare for emergency treatment. Isane, please bring in-"_

_"-Get the scalpels, we're going to need to-"_

_"-Get the numbing medicine, we don't know whether he can feel pain or not-"_

The warm hold on his hands is relinquished, seemingly forcibly dragged away from him. In the deadness, something tingles, vibrations sent throughout his immobile mental state, tranquil and like a droplet of water falling onto a lake with no movement. Ripples turn into tidal waves, which escalate into earth-shaking tsunamis that overwhelm without a second thought.

_"-Shuuhei! Hisagi Shuuhei!"_

**…Am I…**

**…Hisagi Shuuhei, huh?**

_"-Shuuhei! Can you hear me? Answer me! Please!!"_

**Answer...?**

He could hear, but how could he answer? He felt nothing, dreamt about nothing, just searched endlessly in the lightless abyss. But he knew at least one thing now.

He was Hisagi Shuuhei. Way to go, buddy.

_"-Shuuhei!!"_

Understanding that he was someone in the least, Hisagi's eyes raked the scene before him, unseeing but somehow feeling. He asked himself how that was possible, and then settled to just taking the ability for granted. Knowing that there was a portion of his inner-coma-state's-world that felt more solid as his hand grazed over the section, he plunged his arm in blindly, the sensation not too unlike falling off a diving board and hitting the water with a slap. He winced at the impact, but continued to firmly drive his arm further until he hit something. Yanking it out with a sense of impending anxiety, the dark-haired man looked at his hand gravely. It was a silvery-black box with no top and no bottom, an endless connection of joints and sides. Frowning, he smashed the case against his knee and was engulfed in a flash of purity.

A bright white glow surrounded every fiber of his being, cleansing, washing away anything tainting his essence, yet violently ripping and shearing apart everything in its path with a feral sort of wildness. He breathed in deeply, relishing the sensation, the frostiness of the white sinking into his bones, unlike the hostile blackness's cold. It sent a queer reaction up his arms and legs, making his chest seem heavy and yet unexpectedly light. A chilly wash of the resplendent whiteness came into him.

It was a beacon, calling the name that had been running away from him all the time.

**Ka…**

_"-Unohana-taicho! Hisagi-fukutaicho is undergoing unusual side-effects-"_

_"-Shuuhei! Please, answer, answer, I know you're there-"_

**Kaze…**

_"-Mou, Hisagi-kun!"_

_"W-whoa!! Holy shit, Hinamori! Are you okay?!"_

_"-Damn, you trip over yourself so much!"_

**Kaze…shi…**

_"-We're very sorry, Hisagi-senpai! We disobeyed your orders-"_

**Kazeshi…**

_"-Tea?! Please give me that instead, Rangiku-san! AH! Kira's foaming!!"_

_"Kira! Hang in there, Kira!! Also, why are you wearing only your underwear?"_

**Karire…? Reap? Kazeshi…?**

_"-Geez, what's up with all the new recruits these days?! Gawking- Oi, kid, what're you looking at?!"_

_"-Well, you're the only one with bright red hair and really noticeable black tattoos, Abarai-"_

_"Agh, not you too, you've got tattoos too, shut up-"_

_"-Haha-"_

**Karire, Kaze…**

_"-Hitsugaya-taicho, I- I'm sorry about…"_

_"…What are you apologizing for, Kira? Hinamori… (A sigh is heard)…Hinamori chose her own path, fukutaicho. And, Hisagi, stop pretending you're drunk, I've seen you drunk enough to tell whether you're faking."_

**Karire, Kazeshi…**

_"-Hisagi! Want to come for a drink, I'm providing sake!"_

**Karire, Kazeshin…? Wind and death?**

_"-Ouch- damn, Kira, remind me never to make Hitsugaya-taicho mad again, bankai is friggin' strong, even if he's stabbed through the stomach and the shoulder-"_

_"…Ah…My bangs are still frozen…"_

**Karire, Kazeshin…Kazeshine? Kazeshinjyae? Kazeshin…?**

_"Komamura-taicho…will Tousen…ever come back again?"_

_"…Yes, sir!"_

_"…Captain level? You couldn't be more wrong."_

_"Hisagi Shuuhei, huh?! That's a good, strong name!"_

The voices mingled, memoirs entwined like creeping bramble vines, some thorn sharp and others as soft as feathers. His past coiled and uncoiled, like a violent and furious sea, frothing and foaming wildly.

They swirled by, a myriad of emotions.

Pain, hurt, love, shock, anger, revenge, fear, pleasure, sweetness, worry, desperation, sadness, emotionless, numbness, terror, horror, self-loathing, loneliness, heartbreak, triumph, wonder, wariness, joy-

Nothing, unknowingness, blackness, return, darkness, unconsciousness, gone-

He wasn't going to surrender, his feelings were just coming back, he could feel his fingers again, his feet, his painful muscles cramping under the sudden realization-

The reminiscences shrieked and howled in his ears, a dull throbbing at his temples-

He was so scared now, so scared he'd lose it all, he wasn't going to go, no way was he going to go-

_"Karire, Kazeshini!!"_

He was just about the skip over the memory, frantically racking his brain for ways he'd be able to come back, but then, with a jolt of brilliant neon yellow electricity, realized that he found it.

It being the one and only clue to himself, the truth, he scoffed at the idea of running over it.

For the first time in three years, he tasted victory. He relished the sensation, basking in the feeling itself.

He found it. His zanpakutou's name, the key to home; home had a comforting sort of tone to it, he realized at that moment.

**Karire, Kazeshini...!!**

Hisagi Shuuhei called for his identity, and his other half came.

There was a loud crack, a brittle snapping sound, like a solid iron lock being lifted. A whoosh of sound, color seeping into the black and white, rainbows and life springing into being.

Hisagi knew this was the moment. After three years, three years of torture and chains holding him down into this terrifying, lonely place with no life, it was time for him to go back.

The only question left was-

**Am I willing to forsake a colorless world of no pain and acknowledgement for one with pain and fear and death…?**

**Should I give it up for a world with a world with color…?**

The answer was obvious, Hisagi knew, as the cool warmth began to engulf him. But the darkness threatened to snatch him back, black hands reaching, keening in a shrill, ear-shattering voice. He wasn't going to leave anytime soon, the dark oblivion hissed; it wasn't going to let him go.

_You are not going to go…not now…we are lonely…I am lonely…_

He wrestled with all his power. He had a taste of life again; he wanted it back, striving to keep above the abyss of unconsciousness, above the tar pit. The clash ended as quickly as it came, his body weak from years of not practicing, tired and weary.

The coma prevailed.

He sank lower and lower, yelling hoarsely for Kazeshini, calling him to reap for him, calling him to meet his master again. He saw Kazeshini's sharp and deadly form in the white, melting, casting sharp shadows against the backdrop. He called again.

**…Your resolve is not enough, Hisagi Shuuhei.** Kazeshini's vague form shivered in the color that was fading back into grey.

Hisagi bit back a sharp retort, and instead shouted in desperation.

**THEN WHAT SHOULD MY RESOLVE BE?! TELL ME!**

**…It is your decision to make, Hisagi Shuuhei.**

The dark-haired man cursed at the stupid riddles all zanpakutou spoke in. They always brought him around in circles, and now that he was falling, spiraling back into oblivion, they still deigned it fit to speak in a weird way?

**It's a test**, his mind told him fiercely. **A stupid test that only old men can play.**

A second of thought and then he laughed dryly at himself. **Who the hell am I kidding? I'm two centuries old, who the hell am I kidding? If Kurosaki can play this stupid game at his age, I definitely can-**

**Great. Think- think, stupid brain, stop short-circuiting on me-**

**What do I want? I want to go home. What do I want to achieve?! I have no shitty idea-**

**Damn it, I just want to go home-**

**To see my friends again, at least-**

**SO TELL ME, KAZESHINI, WHAT ELSE DO I WANT MORE THAN SEEING MY FRIENDS AND FAMILY AGAIN? THEY ARE ALL THE MOST PRECIOUS THINGS TO ME-**

**Aggh- No, not now, not when- Let go, let GO-**

**KARIRE, KAZESHINI! Karire, Kaze- gah! Shi- Karire, Kazeshini!**

**I TOLD YOU, I WANT TO- d-damn, that was my arm!- I WANT TO SEE MY FRIENDS AND FAMILY AGAIN- shit, shit!**

**I'VE GOT TO GO BACK! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?! KOTAIWA! **

**ANSWER ME, YOU- DAMN! DO YOU UNDERSTAND??**

**COME ON, YOU EFFING-**

His voice echoed in his mind-space, his limbs straining to keep above the surface. One white hand crept up, shockingly unlike the others, the blade of Kazeshini pointed upwards expectantly. Thousands of other blades appeared, the hilts the same. The hands stretched out into the distance, lonely looking figures, blazing pinpoints of light in the stretching eternity.

Hisagi struggled even harder, one muscled arm reaching for the nearest blade, uncaring whether it was the real one or not; he just wanted to stay up, to keep the knowledge of exactly what and who he was. Beads of sweat trickled down his face, rounding his chin and dripping into the tar-like substance that was sucking him down.

An urgently flailing arm brushed by the rough and familiar hilt. Newfound vision failing him, the grey slowly subsided back into that horrible black, and white spots appeared before his eyes. A wild cry was wrested from his mouth, and his arm was still not cooperating, grabbing the guard but not being able to hold on, the fingers returning to numbness.

**No! Damn, this isn't supposed to happen!**

Only his face was above the black pool, ripples spreading across the murky, tar-like material. One ear went under, and the fingers pulled at his hair.

_Come back_, voices whispered hauntingly. _Come back with us, we are lonely…_

He couldn't see out of one eye now, and the other was blinking in and out of focus. His right arm, his sword arm, still hovered above the surface, reaching for that evasive hilt.

**Whatever happened to the good guys winning? Whatever happened to- hell, just give me that zanpakutou-**

Hisagi Shuuhei was nearly submerged, the color gone, memories fading again. His voice was faint, so small in the expanse. His hand rammed against the hilt of his zanpakutou, still unresponsive. The guard teetered close to his face as it was knocked closer down.

**DAMN IT!**

His strength was fading.

**I'VE- I've got to… go back…**

His fingers, rubbed raw from clawing into the darkness, found Kazeshini for a split second before he was suffocated again, his scream being sucked under with a sickening squelch.

Precisely at that moment, he woke up.

Coal colored eyes shot open, pupils dilating as the light of the operational lamp shone into his pupils, body jerking upright abruptly.

"Ah shit," he croaked in frustration, feeling a muscle cramp in his back and blood lightly running down his side. Hisagi winced inwardly at the sound of his own voice, creaky and prone to high pitches from a long time out of use, and at the stinging pain he felt in his gut. He scanned the faces around the room, some recognizable- Unohana-taicho, Isane, Hanatarou- and others, a blond man with snarky glasses and super gelled hair, another one with black hair that fell casually over his eyes, and a short freckled girl with a shock of pink and brown hair. None of his best friends except for Isane were in sight- Hinamori, Rangiku-san, Abarai, Kira, Madarame, and Yumichika weren't anywhere- but he knew, feeling their reiatsu shards lingering in his.

Oh yes, he knew. He wondered why he didn't know whose hands held his in the first place- his friends did in a gesture of passion.

Spotting Kazeshini lying in the corner, he noticed it looked like it had been polished daily by loving hands, but not his own- he'd never use that type of sword grease, he liked to use the brand found in Rukongai's 47th district, the corner shop two blocks away from the seventeenth temple away from the forest border. He'd have to visit the deaf counter-girl later; he wondered if she was still working there, whether she'd remember him as the shinigami who fell asleep on her doorstep one night, drunk out of his mind, and whether she remembered the first thing he signed to her when he took the time to learn sign language.

_"Why the hell did you have to kick me awake, huh?"_

Hisagi opened his mouth. He closed it, and then finding the words he needed, he opened it again, tasting the familiar sensation of the words.

**Tadaima.**

"I'm home."

Hisagi Shuuhei grinned, his face breaking out into a huge smile.

**Sashimiri, minna.**

"Long time no see, everyone."

Unohana was the first to react, setting down Minazuki and unrolling her long shihakushou sleeves from where they'd been rolled up to prevent them from getting in the way of her operation.

"Long time no see, Hisagi-fukutaicho."

Silence hung casually in the room, a silvery veil.

"And," Isane added anxiously, following her much-admired taicho's example, "A-ano…"

She moved with a willowy grace to the corner where his zanpakutou lay against the wall.

The tall pale-haired woman fumbled with the bulk of Kazeshini, heavier than her light Itegumo, which hung delicately from her obi. Holding it out to him slightly apologetically because she handled his soul's extension so roughly, she finished her sentence as Hisagi reached out and held Kazeshini, the cool tsuba glinting in the light.

**Okairi.**

"…Welcome home."

* * *

"Are you sure the shorty is going to be okay?"

Matsumoto leaned forward indignantly in her taicho's seat, mopping up the remnants of dried ink that littered its normally impeccable surface. The only source of light was from the window behind her taicho's desk, the waning sun casting warm colors over the room. "Don't call my taicho that," she said warningly, shifting Haineko from where she rested on her hip. Pulling up the slightly loose fukutaicho's badge and smoothing back her shining hair, she scolded, "He's a war hero, Ikkaku! Mouuu, Ikkaku, the other girls are going to murder you instantly if you said anything like that in front of them. I wouldn't be surprised if I found your dead body strung up on a flagpole, these days."

Ikkaku lazily downed the last of his sake. Eyeing the now-empty bottle in his hand, he reached for another one with his feet, tossing the other keg aside. It landed with a hollow thunk on the floor. "Keh. Like I care, Matsumoto-san. I'm stronger than they are, you know. 'M Taicho-level. Now," he drawled idly, pointing his finger at the busty fukutaicho, "D'you think the chibi's gonna be okay?" Popping the top of the new bottle off, he added, "He's in an entirely different new plain. We've stopped performing konso on the dead there for what, a couple hundred years ago? Think it was when Zaraki-taicho first became a captain. Their souls find their way here fine enough, don't need anyone to guide 'em." Ayasegawa Yumichika, who had been sitting on Matsumoto's desk preening his reflection while looking into one of her best mirrors, looked rather contemplative at the thought. In his special flowery speech, he said, "Yes, I do seem to recall Zaraki-taicho mentioning it a while ago. It is an interesting subject, is it not?"

Matsumoto rolled up her sleeves. "Ukitake-taicho dropped by and told me that they are looking into the matter and looking up more stuff about the Icemark. Taku, you don't know how troublesome this gets yet, too. Taicho's report came by earlier today, you know."

The bald man looked up from his sake, interest started. "What'd he say?"

The slim feminine hand stopped its continuous motion of rubbing up and down on the desk for a split second, white mopping cloth squishing water out as the force on it pressed down harder.

Her voice was harsh and chip, hatred and anger harbored over the years apparent though she tried hard to stop it from coming into her tone. Yumichika also could sense a slight bit of longing in her voice as well, being the more sensitive of the two Eleventh Division members, but refrained to comment on it. However, Ikkaku noticed Yumichika's change of attitude because the vain man set down the mirror, an involuntary act he did only when he was serious, and immediately understood the reason.

"Taicho says that there's probably going to be another war, because the Arrancar are involved and the situation is serious. There's been a slight lull in the events though, but by the time we get the seals on the Senkai Gates down, the War might have already started. Which is why the kido-specialists are frantic, Yamamoto-Sou-taicho is not a happy man. The Senkai Gate Guards that let the Arrancar horde in were suspended from all activity and unseated if they were seats. Taicho…well, he says he's doing fine too. He revealed who he was because the humans were going to be dragged into this anyhow…"

Her full tones trailed off, and she sighed and brushed a strand of loose hair behind her ear.

Yumichika gave his best male friend a warning glance, normally laughing lavender eyes now icily solemn like it was in battle, but Ikkaku took no heed. There was a part missing.

"You left out the role Ichimaru's playing, Matsumoto-san," he said, dark eyes flashing brightly, lines around the red-framed eyes more strained than before. He knew how much pain the shapely woman was still in over her childhood friend. She and her taicho had a lot in common, he'd discovered.

A stony look came over the beautiful fukutaicho's face. There was a slight pause before she continued, albeit a little grimly. "Ichimaru is controlling the Arrancars. Taicho says he has more planned, and for Soul Society to be geared up by March in the Icemark's time. Ichimaru is cunning. We all should know that by now, and Yamamoto-Sou-taicho knows it as well."

She'd stopped calling Ichimaru "Gin" ever since she saw him running from the battlefield, of course.

Ikkaku cleared his throat noisily, and swallowing the burning sake down thickly, he growled, "'Course we know that, who doesn't? Anyway, what about Hinamori? Heard you had a run-in with her after she went off and- ah, whatever, you know."

Matsumoto's happy-go-lucky attitude was back, but there was a glint of triumph and a little bit of irritation in her eyes.

"Oh, that!" she trilled, waving her hand at them nonchalantly, "I just went in and slapped her hard!"

The twosome didn't seem surprised at all. "Knew you'd get along and do it eventually," Ikkaku nodded, leaning his head back on his arms with a satisfied sort of manner. Yumichika sang, "We wanted to send some sense back into her head, of course, but a man hurting a woman who has no defense whatsoever is unsightly."

Ikkaku huffed exasperatedly. "I had half a mind made up to beat some sense into her. But, if I hit her, it'd be such a big punch she'd fly through the wall with a broken jaw, and Unohana-taicho would get mad, which is not a good thing. Besides, Hinamori's supposed to get over that bastard by now."

Matsumoto grinned happily, setting her hands on her hips, ample bosom bouncing as she moved. Inclining forward on the tips of her toes, she crowed, "But she is! It worked! She's up and about now, with the kido-specialists! Apparently, her abilities haven't diminished so much she's got to stay in the Fourth any longer. Though, I haven't really forgiven her yet," the strawberry-blonde added darkly.

Yumichika raised an elegant black eyebrow, back to his issues with his looks. "Really?"

Ikkaku snorted. "Oh yea. Probably some 'women business' again, am I right? It's always the women," he grumbled as he reached for more drinks but found nothing. "Ah, damn, we're out. Maybe I should go attack Iba and fight to see who buys the next batch. Komamura-taicho probably wouldn't mind, they don't have much paperwork."

Matsumoto sighed. "I've got about thirty more kegs stashed in the trapdoor underneath my desk. Yumichika, throw some to Ikkaku, will you?"

The short-tempered not-a-bald shinigami's red-lined eyes widened. "Trapdoor?! How many hidden places does this Division have, seriously?! Does Hitsugaya-taicho know?"

Matsumoto nodded sadly, a pout on her lips. "Mouuu," she moaned, throwing her arms up animatedly, "He found out! He never misses anything, Taicho does. He's the one who defluffed the couch on the first day, discovered where my secret sake caches were, found out where I was when I was supposed to be at a 'fukutaicho's meeting' that was actually an excuse that Renji sent to go drinking- I could go on forever!"

Yumichika smiled carefully, flashing his perfectly white teeth in a dentist-approved grin. "That's Hitsugaya-taicho for you, Matsumoto-san," he said smoothly, and picked at his eyebrow feather. "Now," he asked, turning his head from side to side to see all the angles, "Before I look for that trapdoor, tell me, should I get a change in color for my feathers? I think yellow doesn't bring out my eyes enough, but lavender is not as startling a change, and it doesn't show the perfection of my skin."

"That's Yumichika for you," Matsumoto teased, looking at Ikkaku's creeped out expression. Her hairless drinking buddy face-palmed himself, and held out his hand again, waving it up and down righteously.

"More sake, Yumichika, I'm going to need a hundred more bottles to drown out the image of Matsumoto working along with the image of you admiring yourself now."

"And that is Ikkaku for you," Yumichika noted dryly as he handed a canteen to the occupant of the sofa who was grinning like a madman as he popped open the top, downed the contents in one gulp, and sloppily wiped his mouth on his sleeve, hand back to beckoning for more.

The friends looked at each other and chuckled lightly in the fading sun, all gorgeous pinks, blues, purples, and golds, the moment preserved in time.

* * *

Hinamori screamed out kido incantations at the top of her lungs, hands held out before her. Her reiatsu that used to be light pink had deepened into a thick purple-red. The kido-seal on one of the Senkai Gates was not giving in to the kido-attacks centered on it, rebuilding itself from scratch each time, the dark lettering of the seal fluttering together. Her soukatsui created a gigantic explosion, a fragment of some sort of dirt cutting her cheek jaggedly, but she gritted her teeth and continued firing more and more. Her arms were so tired and her hair was flying out of its ponytail. She'd burned her bun cover because Aizen had given it to her, but she kept the ribbon, which was from a completely different person that she had a completely different emotion towards.

Hitsugaya Toushirou was some boy, she thought. Some boy, to catch her gaze and hold her in such a tight hold that she couldn't breathe.

In the middle of the next attack phrase, those watching on the sidelines, waiting for the opportune moment to start binding, would wonder why Hinamori Momo suddenly looked more determined. Her face, slightly longer and thinner than before the Aizen betrayal, was illuminated by the light of the flaming fires cast by the other kido-specialists with her, and she never felt so alive in such a long time.

Every kido-squad had been split into three groups. The first was the attack group, which shot destroying spells at the seals to weaken it. The second group was the one that cast bindings to seal the reiatsu from the dead Arrancar into one of Kurotsuchi's newer inventions that let him look over the more refined aspects of the locks cast on the gates. Lastly, the third was the back-up team that specialized in protections to prevent the large amount of reiatsu from causing any unnecessary fluctuations in the dimension.

Hinamori had been placed in the attack group, wanting to feel more in action than anything else. The crew she'd been placed in had treated her rather warily, and they still didn't trust her as much as before. But she'd deal with it in time.

Her black bangs blew into her face, and she narrowly avoided being speared by a long pole of blood from the seal, which apparently had something equivalent to a conscious mind and could fire attacks. Noticing the large amount of silvery needle-like attacks charging at her, Hinamori Momo knew she wasn't fast enough to dodge the items. Flipping Tobiume's hilt around her wrist, she cried out, "Hado no Go-Ju-Hachi, Tenran!"

A massive hurricane of air erupted from her hands, knocking them out of her way. She cut a slanted path to an injured member from the Sixth and shouted, "Are you okay? Can you still fire kido fifty and up?" The shinigami, face contorted with pain, looked up and nodded. Hinamori felt relief course through her.

"Good, then could you please help me with something? I have something I want to try out, please? I think it stands a good chance!" she called above the noise, and using Tobiume to deflect a series of little explosive balls of compressed reiatsu, she looked back at the shinigami. "Please?"

The shinigami nodded again, his head bobbing up and down determinedly. "Yes, Hinamori-fukutaicho! What is your plan?"

Hinamori suppressed a grin. "Thank you. Now, we are going to-"

A loud boom resounded throughout the area, and some protection shinigami were blown backwards. But the black-haired girl took no notice and told the boy her plan. She saw that his eyes narrowed in concentration as she unfolded her idea, and suppressed a relieved sigh.

"I see!" he shouted over a particularly noisy attack. "I will attack when I find a suitable opening! And when it's time, please give me the signal!"

She beamed at him, and surprised by her act of friendship, he grinned back.

"By the way, I'm Rikichi. Pleased to meet your acquaintance," the also dark-haired shinigami bellowed, charging over to a spot he could freely attempt to destroy the seal, ignoring the jabbing pains in his side, "Hinamori-fukutaicho!"

She gave a small laugh, her lavender hair ribbon flapping in the wind as she made a jagged turn towards the opposite direction. "And you!" she shouted.

Rikichi leaped over a large rock and while still suspended in the air, he screamed hoarsely, "Hado no Roku-Ju-San, Raikoho!!" The seal mustered its defenses to block the unexpectedly strong collection of lightning, and Hinamori stole towards its weak side.

"Hajike, Tobiume!" she shrieked, and explosions of purple-pink attacked its weak end. In a split second, the seal blocked those as well as Rikichi's attack too, and taken by surprise, Hinamori could not change her direction as the blasts of reiatsu came at her again. She gritted her teeth and steeled herself for the pain that she would have felt unless for Rikichi.

"Hado no Go-Ju-Shi, Haien! Haien! Haien! Haien!" Rikichi hollered over and over again, knocking the explosions away. Hinamori rolled to a safe stop on the ground.

"Good person, that Rikichi," she muttered under her breath, nodding breathlessly to him. He perked up and gave her a thumbs up, winking.

"Right," she said mostly to herself, "Wait for the opportune moment, the opportune moment." Watching four shinigami shunpo towards the seal and take a head on attack, she snapped her fingers.

"NOW, RIKICHI!"

And the two of them, while the edges of the seal were weak from centering all of its energy on the center, roared out the strongest kido-spell that could take out a seal that wasn't a forbidden technique.

"Hado no Hachi-Ju-Hachi, Hi-ryu-geki-zoku-shin-ten-rai-ho!"

The seal fluttered forward, its anchor on the Senkai Gate temporarily disabled, and the binding team rushed onto the scene.

"Bakudo no San-Ju, Shitotsu-Sansen!"

The letters of the seal were stabbed into the ground by three pin-like shafts of light.

"Bakudo no Roku-Ju-San, Sajo Sabaku!"

With a piercing cry, the seal was stuffed into a box-like device, and the instrument glowed blue before transporting itself to Kurotsuchi's lab like it was supposed to. The Senkai Gate would be unstable for the next two months because the seal weakened its walls greatly, so even if the seal was off the rest of Seireitei could not go and help Hitsugaya in the Icemark. There were a couple thousand authorized Senkai Gates in Soul Society, even more unauthorized Senkai Gates that had gone out of usage, and only around two seals were broken a day. The one Hinamori and Rikichi had been working on had been one of the first seals to be worked on, and the only reasons why the seal had broken were because the most work was released upon it and because the weaker Arrancar had set the bindings on this particular gate.

Sweating, Hinamori rubbed her eye, trying to get some grit out of it. The battle-fury had gone out of her, leaving her feeling relatively limp and weary. Supporting herself using Tobiume, she asked, "Are we assigned to any other seals today?"

The shinigami team looked at her and shook their heads uncertainly, looking at each other.

They still thought she was mentally unstable, even after all this time. But she said she'd deal with it, so with a small smile, she began to exit the area.

"…A-Ano, Hinamori-fukutaicho."

The pony-tailed girl turned around, looking much more like the old Hinamori with an air of sweetness floating around her even though she was dirty and stains colored her shihakushou's legs. "Mm? What is it?"

A shinigami standing at the front of the squad stepped forward awkwardly, and held out a hand.

"Sorry about…er, you know," he acquiesced. "It would have been hard for you to get back on track, so we were kind of, uh, you know-"

Hinamori cut him off. "It's okay. It was supposed to be easy for me to get back; it was just my own pig-headedness that sort of-no, it really did stop the progress. I lied to myself, and said things that were truly disturbing. You have every reason to be wary of me, so don't say it," she breathed.

The kido-squad stood stock still as she left, her reiatsu expertly being tucked back into control, and Rikichi declared when she was still in earshot, "I told you she was alright! You were just too untrusting, see!"

Hinamori Momo did not smile, however; she had something very important she needed to settle. If she didn't, she didn't know what would happen to her life.

Oh yes, she needed to resolve this immediately.

* * *

Matsumoto and Ikkaku were laughing their heads off at a joke Yumichika told when the shoji door slid open with a soft sound.

A small foot stepped into the room, and at once everyone was quiet, the room almost entirely dark.

Hinamori had an apathetic face on, as did Matsumoto. Yumichika set down his mirror for the second time that day, and Ikkaku glared, dislike clearly etched into his face. He'd never been exceptionally friendly with Hinamori, Ikkaku was, because he didn't stick well around naïve people like her. So he glared fiercely, sharp features ever the harder.

It was Yumichika who first broke the heavy atmosphere. "What do you want, Hinamori-fukutaicho?" he said softly, lavender eyes glittering. Hinamori said nothing, and just looked at him wordlessly, brow furrowed. When he received no response, Yumichika said again, "I asked you, Hinamori-fukutaicho, what you want with us. I believe you are obliged to answer."

Still she said nothing, and turned her gaze to Matsumoto, who looked like she was on the brink of blowing up again.

"Hinamori," the busty woman ground out stiffly, "These are the Tenth's quarters. The last time I looked, the Fifth was in the opposite direction, fukutaicho."

Hinamori froze as Matsumoto growled, "If you have nothing to say, get out."

The Fifth's fukutaicho stood, head bowed, bangs covering her face. She was so tired, but before she could go anywhere, she had to get this off of her back. She opened her mouth, but then closed it, searching for the right things to make this situation go her way.

"...I was stupid."

Everyone blinked in surprise.

"I was an idiot. I was someone who didn't want to see the truth even when it was right under her nose. I was someone who reveled in the pity and someone who wallowed in self-wanting. I was undeserving of everyone's worry and was giving everyone a hard time."

Matsumoto's face was still hard, Hinamori noticed, and mentally slapped herself in the face. She was feeling so small again, not like she had been while with the other kido-specialists. She swallowed hard, her throat expanding as her saliva went down. She could taste the coppery feeling of blood, and knew she'd bitten her tongue when using kido earlier.

"…I gave Shi- Hitsugaya-kun a lot of pain by blaming him for things that were supposed to be great things. I blamed him for doing things that deserved praise. I acknowledge that. I gave you a lot of pain also, Matsumoto-fukutaicho, by making Hitsugaya-kun hurt too. I also acknowledge that. I held Seireitei back with my lack of common sense. I acknowledge that as well."

Hinamori's voice grew steadily, and it took on a deeper note. "Some things I regret. No," she amended, shaking her head. "I regret many things. I'm sorry for them, too. But, I want to change things. I want to see the light again, I want to smash watermelons in the summer, I want to run around and be the girl I was before, but without the naivety. I…wish things could have been better," she finished lamely, her back straight and less hunched over.

Lifting her head, directly addressing Matsumoto, she said in a hushed tone to the wielder of Haineko, "But, more importantly…"

Hinamori smiled softly.

"I'm back, Matsumoto-san."

And then Matsumoto and Hinamori were sobbing red-eyed messes, holding each other tightly and laughing for no apparent reason.

"I'm back, I'm back, I'm back," Hinamori cried nonsensically into Matsumoto's shoulder, and Matsumoto answered with her own shoulder-racking tears, smiling and nodding all the while.

Ikkaku could only stare. Yumichika nodded approvingly.

"They've made up appropriately," Yumichika said in a happy tone of voice, and stood up to place a hand on Hinamori's shoulder, whose tears had dried as quickly as they had come, and when she looked up again to Yumichika's neat features, she burst into tears again.

Ikkaku could, after all, only stare again.

"Women business, alright," the bald man croaked in wonder. "Women business, with one girly guy stuck on the edge of it."

To no one in particular, he raised a bottle of sake and slurred, "Welcome back, Hinamori."

And when they all received a jigoku-cho stating that Hisagi-fukutaicho awoke from his coma, and when they all flooded to the Fourth in a flurry of loud cries and shouts, Ikkaku had to drink another bottle of sake for Hisagi as well. He was knocked out from the high level of sake in his system a while later, but he managed to drag himself to the Fourth in his sleep anyhow.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Back to the masquerade next chapter. The masquerade had me stumped for a while, I admit, because I didn't know how I was supposed to input all the ideas that I had into it. But this chapter was stuck in my head, so I put it there. Haha.

Now, seeing as my story has a few chapters now, reviews, anyone?

Damn, that sounded whiny.

Well, I hope this chapter was okay, anyway. I wasn't really certain about what it was like, so.


	9. White Out

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

FIRSTLY, I apologize for this exceptionally late update and have tried to compile as much info as possible into one cramped chapter so I can drag in a bit more fighting (I'd grin as evilly as I could, but my lips are kind of chapped up…winter sure is dry here.)

SECONDARILY, I don't know why I'm capitalizing this stuff, but **THANK YOU SO MUCH people who reviewed and the couple that added this to their favorites and their story alerts.** Unfortunately I have to rush off to finish building my sky tram (that's supposed to run three meters in FIVE SECONDS and has to survive a FOUR FOOT fall without DAMAGING the MOTOR that's SUPPOSED TO LAST) and I am seriously screwed in the project. Hence, my grade is dying and I've got a ton more rabid, frothing-at-the-mouth plot bunnies leaping around maniacally in my mind.

(Pants and breathes hard.) Save me from the disease!

I AM SO AFRAID that _Timor_ might turn into a fully evolved Mary-Sue because of his interactions with Hitsugaya. And _Thirrin_ appears so little, but she's such an incredibly hard character to write because of her mood swings (and because she's a slight Mary-Sue, I realized from rereading the series to get the facts right.) And I am afraid _Amelie_ will turn into a Mary-Sue as well, and maybe even Marta. (Charles Horton is safe. Old men can't be Mary-Sues, I think. Well they can, but it's hard to make them so Mary-Sueish you want to kill them immediately.) I'm also still deciding who I should…nah, won't fill you in on that ^^ Feel free to guess on how I was going to complete the sentence.

I also made the OCs talk more because I need to develop their personalities more. It's vital to my survival, you can skip over the section if you'd like. I've also added CANON characters (oh yes, thank god) but there aren't many Frostmarris people that are mentioned, so I just grabbed their names, frantically reread both installments to the series over four times, and jotted down any personality traits and ranks that I could drag out of the context.

Anyway, thank you.

I meant to post this earlier, but school was- and is- murderous ^^ Please, be merciful. Plus, I think I might change the title, but I don't know how to set up a poll for a new name for this story -_-' Care to help, anyone? But for now, I'm thinking about _Pawn_, _Bloodline_ (this one has no relation to the story whatsoever, but I like the sound of it), _The Second_, and _Flower on the Precipice_, _Freefalling_ (I don't know about these two either.) Bleh. Whatever. Please enjoy.

(This wasn't checked over for grammar mistakes in my haste to update. Sorry ^^)

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach nor The Cry of the Icemark, but I do own this storyline.

**-White Out-**

The sun was setting. It was a brilliant sunset, all glorious bloodreds and golds and shining oranges, accentuated by a shocking pink here and there. The sky was dotted with thin, slanting white clouds that looked like chalk marks on the sky. Undeniably, the vibrant waning of the sun set a spark of excitement for the ball that started at seven, just barely an hour away. The wet, snow-laden streets were lonely looking in the distance, most people inside their houses preparing for the massive celebration. A few stragglers could be seen here and there, no doubt out to drink rather than party, but pretty much everyone was eager for the masquerade that night, spirits at an ultimate high and soaring higher each minute.

Such was the power of parties, Hitsugaya Toushirou noted dismally, but all he could feel as he watched the sun drop lower and lower in the horizon was the impending feel of pure doom.

Hitsugaya ran a hand through his hair, a tingle running down his spine. He looked back out at the sky almost wistfully, and knew that it was nearly time for the Midnight Masquerade, what the Queen's festivity had been eventually named due to the fact it ended at twelve flat.

**Tch. What a pain, **he thought when he noticed it was nearly seven from the sun's placement on the horizon.

Shifting to face his room, brilliant sea-green eyes found their way to the black cloak that had barely just dried. The hood moved slightly as a chilly breeze found its way inside the room, and he remembered he forgot to slide the glass door to the balcony closed. Turning back, with an easy sweep of his hand he shut the transparent divider with a click. Drawing the deep maroon curtains, the captain leaned against the glass that was now concealed behind rich velvet, feeling the wintry outside burn through the thick drapery.

Hitsugaya swallowed thickly and sighed, a low dragon-like growl in his throat. Hyourinmaru chuckled almost teasingly in the back of his mind, amused at his wielder's expense, and he told the Heavenly Guardian to shut up sharply.

Reality must be dealt with firmly, he told himself repeatedly as he changed into a set of black breeches and a white tunic with silver spiraling markings that ran up the sleeves, stopping at the shoulders. Sitting stiffly onto the edge of his bed, Hitsugaya tugged on a random set of boots he found lying by the door. He stopped a dry scoff, feeling very much like a martyr for a lost cause.

The taicho flopped back onto the comfy mattress jadedly, the whites and blacks of his outfit contrasting deeply with the rich red of his bed.

After a long time passed, he slowly and deliberately lifted himself off the bed, making his way lithely across the floor to the cloak.

A thin hand fisted in the dark clothing. It was still damp, he noted to his dissatisfaction. Eyelids rolled shut as he concentrated and contacted the water particles still lodged in the cape, the slippery substance knocking against his senses, tapping into his mind. He liked the tranquil sensation of water against his consciousness, the feeling not too unlike letting quicksilver run over you, but it ended when he drew out the particles and sent them hurtling towards the fire.

The fire hissed out, the dark and charred logs thoroughly soaked. To his inner frustration, Hitsugaya's heartbeat had increased slightly; drawing out water particles was still slightly exhausting because it forced him to remove all mental barriers for a few seconds, and even though it was for a short moment, it made him mold slightly into nature, though he'd shift back a bit later.

Souls are not meant to mold into the surroundings. To do so is to distribute the reiyuku that souls are made up of, and when the reiyuku is evenly balanced with the world's reishi, it becomes the equivalent of death for a soul. Hitsugaya could freeze with just his reiatsu and not face any consequences, but here he had to conserve and contain his reiatsu. Ichimaru's whereabouts were still unknown, and it wouldn't do to let him sense Hitsugaya's direct location.

Hitsugaya slung on Hyourinmaru, who had been sitting contentedly next to the cape on a couch, unto his back. He offhandedly adjusted the forest green sash, diligently tying it around the golden starburst shaped pin. Then, tugging on his tunic, now rumpled by the addition of his zanpakutou, he donned the black cloak in one swift movement, the cloth swishing by.

He'd been counting down until it turned seven, and unless his mathematics was in severe need of improvement, it was now seven.

The hood came up over the white tuft of hair, and he turned on his heel and exited the room, locking it firmly behind him.

…Maybe he could scout around instead of indulging in the festivities. If the Queen would be merciful and let him roam around as he pleased, that is.

But, just in case she wouldn't grant him freedom, Hitsugaya steeled himself for a night of utter torture.

* * *

As Hitsugaya made his way through the passageways, he felt stares burning through his back and whispers litter the area he was walking through, but he took no heed. Large blue-green eyes scanned the halls, darting from one attraction to the other, awe and surprise running through his veins in burst and shocks.

The halls of Frostmarris were lit up by floating, shifting balls of witch-fire, the silver-gold flames coolly making their way around the ball floor in erratic patterns. The witch-fire was strangely entrancing to him, for in their haste to whirl around the dance floor they left little white sparks falling to the ground. The flickers of silvery-gold felt like bits of bone-chilling hoarfrost that was somehow fiery to the touch. Thus, the hallways looked like they were filled with snowflakes, bits of fluffy peacefulness, drifting in flowery spirals towards the ground in a mesmerizing display.

The floor did not look like a floor either. It had taken upon the appearance of a silvery lake, the ground rippling out in pale blue waves, hues changing from a soft silver into a deep blueberry randomly as would water in unstable light. The traditional drapery of the Great Hall had been removed, and thick curling tendrils of vivid green ivy curled around the marble walls and pillars, dotted with silver pearly droplets of ice perfectly carved into flowers. The only resemblance the Hall had to the old Hall were the faded flag standards of the old times. They were like faded memories dwindling away, a long-forgotten dream in the splendor of the moment.

The moon shone through the closed windows, the balconies were left unlocked, couples sitting underneath the winter's night sky, kept warm by the adrenaline and enthusiasm circulating quickly around their bodies.

The witches and warlocks who had decorated had done their job exceptionally well.

The dance floor was considerably cluttered, Hitsugaya noted as he passed through the golden gilded ballroom doors, many groups creating their own circles and swaying to the thick rhythm created by harpsichords and bass guitars together. Tables were arranged systematically around the ballroom, Hitsugaya noticed, artistically arranged to look as if they'd been dumped there with no thought at all, but he could see the soft outlining of a pattern there.

He saw that there were many people wearing dark black cloaks that night that looked uncannily like his, but he was glad- all the better for him. Then no one would be able to correctly identify him, seeing as from where the soldiers had been viewing the battle, his height could not be judged wisely.

Laughter welled around a certain cluster of unmasked merrymakers, and a flame-haired girl garbed in sapphire blue perked up at the sight of him- how Thirrin knew it was him, he'd never know. The Queen lifted a hand and beckoned him over, the glass of a golden, fizzing liquid sloshing dangerously around in the cup. A droplet rounded the silvery rim of the goblet and nearly dripped onto the immaculate floor, but Thirrin just calmly tilted it back into the glass.

Cautiously inching around a madly giggling couple, he stalked over albeit a little grumpily to Thirrin and her company. As he neared the group, he muttered lowly and only to Thirrin, "I think I just walked by two people who were already drunk, or they got hyperactive on air."

It appeared that his comment did not go unheard, for one of the four people surrounding Thirrin snorted into her drink as she heard his dry observation. The old man who was sitting in a chair next to the table they were around gave the woman an irritated look, a massive plate heaped with thick slices of beef on his lap.

"Nev'r knew you snorted like a pig, Amelie. Thought lil' gals nev'r snorted. Least, nottin front of other company," the bearded man commented rather gruffly, eyeing her disapprovingly. "'N me old days, winever the gals nearly snorted, they'd always gee off and cover their mouths. Better than snortin' inna yer drink. They were much better than yer manners. Snorting inna yer drink's yurky."

The chestnut-haired and lightly tanned female- Amelie, Hitsugaya assumed- gave the old man a withering look, swampy eyes shrewd. "And I never knew old men liked to comment on 'piggy girls', you twisted boot-head," she said reproachfully, pale peridot-emerald gown shifting as she turned.

The elegant man garbed in French blue next to the woman who had snorted shook his head. "Generals and their arguments," he said lightly. "We've company here," the blond said smoothly, marble-like eyes glinting faintly. Holding a well-roughened and long-fingered hand out, he introduced, "I am Captain Magnus James Norrington. It is a pleasure."

Amelie gave the man a disgusted look. "Ever so dead formal, you are. Seriously can't believe you can live like that. I couldn't, that's for sure," she added, winking at Hitsugaya. "Anyway, now that Mags (_"Mags?!" the blond man exclaimed, clearly not believing his ears_) has his hand out, you might as well shake it for all its worth," the female said dismissively. Thirrin gave Hitsugaya a look that clearly said that she was very tough to handle. Hitsugaya silently and yet vehemently agreed, though he'd just met the woman.

Eyeing Captain Magnus James Norrington's hand warily, he held out his hand and shook the other's uncomfortably, aware of the man's eyes on his head, which was slightly above the man's belt. He also ignored the other man's involuntary flinch as the coldness of his hand sank into his scars, and pointedly made believe that his hand didn't look small and very much like a child's next to the grown man's.

Why did everyone have to be so frickin' tall?

He was 103 years old, after all. He was older than everyone here.

"That was awkward," Hitsugaya amended smoothly, sliding his -small- hand back into his cloak.

The old man had started on his first steak. "Incredibly awkwerd, sonny, incredibly. Hrrm," the man rumbled. Not looking up, he grunted while chewing, "Charles Horton Murphy. General. A centenarian of 108 years, sonny." Hitsugaya groaned inwardly. Just when he thought he'd be older than everyone around him, some century old soul had to pop up, stubbornly clinging to a deteriorating body. Though, from the looks of this man, his body could probably last him a few more years before he'd be seen in Soul Society.

Then a page bearing the colors of the Icemark snuck over with a plate and wistfully looking at the skimpy, dry pieces of beef lying on the table, tried to sneak a bit of juicier steak off of the general's plate.

The response was instantaneous.

"Don' try to take me vittles away from me, yeh lousy, no-good kid, I'll castrate your gut 'n strangle yeh with yer own stommick," Charles Horton growled lowly at the page, a knife glinting dangerously in the light.

Amelie made a face. "That's horrendous. Child cruelty."

Thirrin gestured towards the willowy woman who had just spoken, a quirk set to her lips. "Well, anyway, this is Amelie- Amelie Reginald, one of the youngest generals at age twenty-one." The aforementioned woman grinned brightly and saluted, and when the old man gave another cough that sounded uncannily like, "bratty she is, too," she flipped around and glared daggers.

Hitsugaya was listening to the familial bickering, but his stare was fastened on the quiet man that was watching the happenings with a rough, warm air that belonged to a farmer. The man had a rough chin, not completely clean-shaven, and brown hair that was reminiscent of how the military in Kurosaki Ichigo's time had their hair cut. He also had thick, wire-rimmed black glasses.

He seemed like a friendly man, but it was people with _that_ kind of aura that Hitsugaya had extreme difficulty trusting these days.

Seeing the direction Hitsugaya's gaze was pinpointed on, Magnus cleared his throat, "And this man next to us who has been good and keeping out of arguments (_"Hey! It's not my problem that this old crotchety boot-head-" "Whazzat, piggy-girl, eh? Who's a boot-'ead?! Yer the one interruptin' me dinner!"_) is General Matthew Osgood."

General's Osgood's eyes twinkled, and in a deep sort of voice that was characteristic of mountain-dwellers and valley-toilers, he said, "That would be me. And that brings the subject of your name to mind, seeing as we have yet to learn your name as well." Osgood politely raised an aristocratic eyebrow.

Hitsugaya gave Thirrin a glance from underneath his hood. Thirrin gave him an almost imperceptible nod, and he then decided to give his real name. "I am Hitsugaya Toushirou, General Osgood."

Osgood looked contemplative. In his slow, rich voice he remarked, "Hitsugaya is an unusual first name, is it not?"

Thirrin cut into the conversation. "Hitsugaya is his last name. In his country, they put the last names before the first, apparently."

"Really?" Amelie said interestedly, very accommodating to the situation.

"Yes," Thirrin responded, "Though I have yet to visit his country."

Silently, Hitsugaya thought, **Not that you'd want to visit Soul Society anytime soon, Queen.**

"You must live far from here then," Magnus commented, long blond ponytail swaying a bit as a gust of wind found its way over to them. (AN: Oh yes, Magnus has a ponytail. I just made that up ^^)

Hitsugaya shook his head. "No," he said carefully, "My country isn't quite that far away at all."

In truth, all he had to do was rip open a dimension and he'd be in Soul Society.

Thirrin gave a short laugh, rather like a bark. The Queen fingered her panther mask in her hands, and she cast an anxious look at the door. Hitsugaya saw the figure of Oskan was nowhere near them.

"Where is the Witchfather?" he inquired. He could see that the teenage warlock was already very attached to Thirrin, and without him she was rather snappish.

Thirrin gave the tensai an approving sort of look before she answered. "That's the first time anyone's mentioned Oskan tonight," she began tersely, "He said he wanted to be truly 'masked' tonight and that he was going to make that true by not telling me what he was going to do or wear tonight."

"Oooh, is our little Queen after the little warlock?" the youngest general quipped happily, eyes twinkling. "Magnus, I win the bet! Hand the gold over!"

Osgood blinked. "Oh my," he said, genuinely amused.

Thirrin spluttered incoherently in the background. "What do you mean, bet?!" she commanded indignantly, but everyone's attention was riveted on Magnus, who was fingering through his coat.

Magnus sighed and removed fifteen shining gold pieces from a hidden pocket in his coat, dropping them into his partner's hand, who cheerily tucked the money into a silk pouch slung onto her waist by a rainbow colored sash. "There goes three month's worth of salary," the captain said mournfully, eyeing the pouch that his savings went into.

Osgood chuckled. "Three month's worth of salary? Captain Norrington, your bets are extremely high-strung."

Thirrin's voice prevailed at last.

"I said, _generals_, what do you mean, bet?!" Thirrin repeated in a hassled manner, doing a good job of keeping her Queenly air up. The people around her noticed the stress on _generals_, and Amelie piped up first, her voice obnoxiously sweet and dripping honey.

"Aren't you after the little warlock? Darn, I thought you were. Wait, no, you are! That blush gives you away completely, hun, trust me."

With a streak of amusement, Hitsugaya saw that the Queen had a tomato-red face that complemented her hair perfectly shade to shade. "I am not blushing!" she said stiffly, propping her panther's mask, which had been sitting on top of her head, down on her face. Osgood patted her on the head like she was a child, and the Queen bristled furiously.

Out of pity and out of sympathy that the Queen and he had common ground (like being treated like a child,) Hitsugaya decided to save her. "Aren't you after the Captain Magnus, General Reginald?" Thirrin clung to the topic like a waterlogged cat would to a savior.

The female general didn't turn red at all, much to Thirrin's chagrin and Hitsugaya's amusement. "Oh, Mags? Ah, he's the most infamous womanizer in this place," she announced cheekily, flashing a dentist-approved smile at him. Hitsugaya raised an eyebrow, though no one could see it. "If he's a womanizer, then why are you with him tonight? I have heard that womanizers often…have affairs with other people."

Amelie grinned. "Ah, that's 'cause Magnus isn't saddled down with any woman yet! He's just going around, breaking hearts, making enemies of the girls' fathers, wheedling money out of housewives, and all that stuff that womanizers do."

Magnus looked drop-dead horrified.

"I don't WHEEDLE MONEY OUT OF HOUSEWIVES!"

Charles Horton shook his head sadly. "Whatta pity," the elderly general muttered like all old people do, "Whatta pity. Thought yeh was a good person, Cap'n Magnus. In me old days, young 'uns wouldn't ever try to fool a housewife, crikey." Pointing a piece of beef skewered on a knife at Magnus, Charles Horton advised, "Watch out for those brooms, Cap'n. If yeh dun't do that, yeh'll get whacked cross the buttock. I've seen better men lose their buttocks t'a good broom, sonny."

"Have you ever known anyone who's lost their buttocks?" Amelie asked interestedly.

Charles Horton was back to attacking his steak- his fifteenth since Hitsugaya reached the group- with renewed vigor and did not answer.

"How does he bottle all of that down?" Hitsugaya asked in amazement.

"It's a trait of all elderly men, apparently," Magnus shrugged coolly, his bad-boy façade back. Charles Horton looked up and _snarled_.

Amelie merely had a light fit of hysterics at Magnus's facial expression, and patted Hitsugaya on his shoulder. "Don't mind him, kid," she chortled.

Hitsugaya twitched. "I'm not a child."

"Eh?" The chestnut-haired woman looked him up and down, and her eyes went wide.

The Wildcat of the North choked on her fizzing drink and managed to gasp, "Then how old are you really? You said you- you- oh, you know. I never really thought about how old you really are, looking like the way you do."

Osgood said, "Looking like he does?" With a thoughtful shine to his dark brown eyes, the general scrutinized Hitsugaya in a manner that seemed well-meaning enough. His scowl deepened under the hood as he struggled to rein in his reiatsu. It was a miracle that this Great Hall hadn't frozen over yet, but perhaps it was because Hyourinmaru was restraining him mentally.

It made Hitsugaya proud to declare that he was "older than 99.99999 percentile of the population." The 0.00001 percentile that was taken away was dominated by any old men like Charles Horton.

The rest gaped while Charles Horton, again, simply didn't pay the taicho any mind and continued to digest his food with gusto, now on his twenty-first batch. But this was lost on Hitsugaya.

The white-haired boy's eyes were zoning in on Magnus, whose slightly apprehensive gaze was locked on a golden clock that hung from the wall. A blazing red figure appeared at the door, head turning around as if looking for someone. The marble-eyed man casually detached himself from the group as the man wearing a bright red boar's mask beckoned almost imperceptibly from the front door, and no one really noticed as their stares were all trained on the current subject of attention.

The frozen orbs kept a lookout for the direction of the captain (because with that suspicious behavior, he could be planning something,) and he could see out of the corner of his eye that Magnus was apologizing decently for bumping into a set of partners. Magnus bent over, kissing the back of the blushing woman's hand and making her partner scowl fearsomely from underneath his face-decorations. Magnus continued and Hitsugaya had half a mind made up to follow him.

"I see," Thirrin managed at last, distracting him. "I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't," Hitsugaya assured her distractedly, as honest and cool as a reflection on ice. He searched for Magnus again.

A tide of young teenagers overtook his vision, a wave of magentas and indigos and sunny yellows. When the swarm scattered and flocked to the dance floor, he cursed inwardly when the bright red figure wasn't present anymore.

Magnus was also nowhere to be seen.

Then again, Hitsugaya didn't mind the man's absence as much as he did Amelie's high-pitched squeal that appeared out of nowhere.

"Wow, that's just so cool! Older than 99.999-whatever percent? But your height is at such a cute one too! I wonder how you look like? Aaaaw, I wanna see your face now, you must be so adorable!!!"

A split second later and the female general switched a topic. "Huh, and Magnus just ditched me. I wonder where he went? Hmmph, whatever. Hey, boot-head, can I have one little piece- I'll take the fatty steak, fine, be a snob- wait, never mind, thank you so so so much, boot-head, I promise I won't call you boot-head anymore- well, maybe not, boot-head's a cute name! Just like little short Hitsugaya here, so _cute_!"

Hitsugaya opened his mouth to express his extreme annoyance at the woman's remark about his height, and that he was not _short_ and he was absolutely not _cute_, but she charged forward with the talking.

Deciding to leave this conversation to scout around a bit because he had nothing better to do in a masquerade, Hitsugaya took his leave, careful to make sure no one noticed, feeling slightly winded and definitely dazed.

His proud ego hadn't taken such a beating in decades. Hyourinmaru could only laugh.

Before he left the group, however, he cast a look towards at them over his back, piercing oceanic eyes narrowed dangerously.

Osgood's eyes were riveted on him from behind thick black glasses, brown and warm and amicable. The worn edges of the man's eyes crinkled in a smile, and the general held up a glass of bubbling golden champagne as Hitsugaya turned around again after a long stare.

He did not look back, but he was sure those wire-rimmed eyes were still riveted on his figure, burning into him.

Burning.

* * *

Janice Fowler tightened the bodice of her dress, the black cloth silkily rustling in the dimness of her room. She hadn't bothered to relight a candle or anything, preferring the solemnity of the darkness to the bright light.

She breathed in to make the corset fit better, and looked at her figure in the mirror. Janice liked what she saw: deception, mystery, and intrigue, all fitting into a girl who did not look plump and careworn anymore- she was tall and slim; someone a boy would blush at when asking out to dance.

She smoothed out her dress delicately, and gently pulled over her mask. Her eyes glittered frostily, but not in a way that would make her seem unbeautiful, and she flashed herself another look in the mirror.

"Good girl, Janice," she crooned lovingly at her reflection, watching her painted lips widen seductively. She smoothed the front of her dress down and pulled on her dark gloves, ending at her elbows and tickling her arms.

Walking out the door of her bedroom, she flipped her chestnut hued hair, still curly but in a more delicate way, over her back. The dress rustled, and as Janice came down the stairs, she imagined there were claps and loud cheering from her fake audience.

Janice smiled at her down-to-earth Pa when he walked in the door, holding his shabby hat over his heart. To this new Janice's disapproval, she noticed the shirt he was donning was shabby and careworn, dirt specks coloring the red plaid.

"Good gracious, mahn," her Pa said softly, "Is that yeh, Jahnny? Mae Ol' Jahnice Fohwler?"

The dangerous dress rustled as she crossed the threshold of her house, and she laughed, a low, full tone that she'd practiced over and over again while training her voice.

"No, Mr. Fowler," she said mockingly, "Janice Fowler's not here at the moment." When her Pa stared at her incredulously, his expression so pitifully absurd, she laughed.

"Janice isn't here right now, oh yes. She'll be back tomorrow," she chimed, as she walked by with feline grace. "So, don't worry," she said coolly, patting the stunned man on the arm.

Brushing past, the scent of crisp roses hung on the wintry air, teasing.

* * *

Meandering meaninglessly through the crowd, Hitsugaya drifted by a boy flexing his muscles underneath a black cloak and letting the girls feel his biceps. "…Yea, that guy yesterday- his name was Eemahduh- was such a weakling, I can finish off around fifty more of him without even going all out, can you feel those muscles…" Catching a bit of the conversation, he stopped a snicker. These humans could be so incredibly amusing.

Hyourinmaru's sheath jabbed a part of his back, and he rotated his shoulder bone as to make the green sheath fit comfortably. He scanned the hall again, and saw that the General Murphy had stopped devouring steaks, but had started on dessert. He blanched.

**Oh, gods, how much can he chuck down?**

Walking on forward, he bumped into a figure dressed in a modest brown tunic and black breeches, goldenrod patterning running up and down the arms in lightning markings. Looking up into the mask, Hitsugaya's perpetual scowl deepened as he immediately recognized the person. Stepping back, he said quietly, "Witchfather." He kept the fact that Oskan would probably want to go unrecognized in mind when he talked, and his low tones were just at the threshold of hearing.

The person flinched as if a red-hot poker had been brandished in his face. "How'd you know it was me?" Oskan lifted up his mask slightly, a polished white one like a staring face with black curlicues along the edges, and gave him an appraising look. "I got mistaken as a servant for my apparel, and another person thought I was a prince looking for Thirrin and attempting to blend into the crowd. It was actually amusing," Oskan laughed.

"Hn."

"And a prince to seek Thirrin's hand! That's impossible, I'm a Witch's son, and she's a Queen." He gave a laugh. "Speaking of Queens, I wonder how Thirrin's doing without me, besides. She'll make a fine…Queen. Well, she already is…but most still see her as a Princess because she isn't…married." Oskan's voice trailed away and he gave a sideways glance, as if afraid to meet the clear gaze of Hitsugaya.

It just suddenly struck Hitsugaya about the two's relationship. Blushing upon mention of the other, awkward when it comes to the other… something clicked in the tensai's mind.

Shaking his head, the tensai massaged his forehead out of pure habit. "You two are in complete denial."

"Huh?" Oskan craned his neck to hear better. "What did you say?"

He waved his hand dismissively. "Never mind," he huffed. "I suppose you will see the Queen later, though?"

Oskan gave a wry grin. "You are a mind-reader, you are. I'll see her later, yes, but not in a way she'd expect. It'll be a surprise."

As Oskan tugged the mask completely over his face again, Hitsugaya stated, "You would not want to pretend to be someone else when you see her, though. It could make her think in the way you may not want, Witchfather."

He ignored his counterpart's remark of: **I never knew you could play Matchmaker like your fukutaicho, little one.**

The taller of the two was visibly startled. "What I want?" the sixteen year old articulated incredulously. "What I want? Since when has what I wanted come into play?"

"Don't ask me. What you want must be achieved by none other than yourself. Standing still and going around in circles will not do anything," Hitsugaya advised. (AN: As if he is the one to talk. Meh. I mean, he has fangirls but doesn't notice?)

"Who said I was standing still?" Oskan demanded, one hand roughly on the smaller's shoulder. "I'm moving! I'm not going around in circles! I'm going in a straight line, and Thirrin will make a great Queen!"

"Firstly, I never insulted the Queen. Second of all, you are going in a straight line," the snow-crowned captain scowled. "But, you are moving backwards."

He resumed his scouring of the Great Hall, walking away from the stunned warlock.

"You should still find her though," he added as an afterthought. "You would want to," he said softly, "Simply because you do not want to keep moving so far behind it is impossible to catch up again."

* * *

As soon as Toushirou could keep to himself and make sure he could stand still without being interrupted for a while, he exploded at his counterpart while leaning behind a fully ivy-covered pillar.

_**OI**_**, **_**Hyourinmaru**_**!!!**

**Hn..?** The deep voice reached his mind, brushing against his hand like a delicate flower.

**I am not playing "**_**Matchmaker**_**!" I am simply **_**nudging **_**them in the**_** right direction**_** because their **_**denial**_** could prove **_**troublesome**_** in the future.**

**Little one, that is hypocritical, **Hyourinmaru snorted, ice falling off his snout as he stretched his jaws in a lazy yawn. A long, thick tail slammed against the ground, ice fluffing into the air as the dragon rolled onto his side, one wing stretched out in an almost bored fashion.

**In what way is it hypocritical?** Toushirou demanded stiffly, glowering at a boy who clearly had too much beer, walking around on unstable legs. **What makes you say that?**

**On the return to Seireitei, you should find out for yourself, **Hyourinmaru said decisively, shaking snow off his frame as he flipped upright again. **If your fukutaicho does not spoil the… surprise for you first.**

Toushirou shuddered at the thought of Matsumoto and her surprises. **Tch. Zanpakutou and their riddles.**

**Ahh. But if we did not talk in riddles, you would not be able to solve the real riddles that come your way, **the majestic creature reasoned.

**...I suppose so…**

Then, the wielder of the strongest ice zanpakutou in Soul Society said in a very tight voice, **You know, Hyourinmaru…**

**What is it, little one? **The echoing and crushing tones rang out strongly as the Guardian knew that they were reaching the real concern of his summoner, whose exceedingly hot head for such a cold demeanor had cooled off.

An accepting sigh. **I hope those riddles will train me to my best, because I will need to solve more than I ever want to solve in my afterlife…**

**…Proven that you are the one to solve them, Toushirou. Proven that you are the one to solve them **–Toushirou noticed that Hyourinmaru had retreated into his stiffer, more formal self-** you will need much training.**

**…I know.**

**…You will need much training, little dragon** –Toushirou flinched as the full implication of being called little dragon hit him; being called little dragon came with great responsibility-** because Ichimaru will begin to move his pawns soon. He will begin to move his pawns, and then his bishops, and then his knights, and then his rooks. And when he moves his queen piece, little dragon…**

An ominous feel settled over the small figure.

…_**Even the greatest of dragons may fall to a snake's venom.**_

* * *

Timor spotted Hitsugaya's figure in the crowd. No one could have that commanding air even when wearing a menacing dark cloak, he'd figured. Tapping the person on the shoulder, he smiled amiably.

"Hey, Hitsugaya!"

The figure turned around, and turned around again. "It's you. Again."

Timor dismissed the coolness as easily as it came. "Marvelous ball, isn't it?" he said genially. "The witches must have burned out their energy. It's rare that the Great Hall even looks like this. Last time Frostmarris held a party as big as this, they didn't do anything to the décor and held axe-throwing contests in the Hall. I nearly got my head lopped off by a misaimed axe. I lost some of my bangs from that throw." Timor tugged on his hair meaningfully. "It was hectic. Not as peaceful."

"Hn." The teenager saw Hitsugaya's arms folded tightly to his chest underneath the cloth of the cloak. He recognized the tightness of the fingers as something like anger, having the same reaction when trying to contain his temper.

"Uh…what's up?" The footsoldier's voice cracked a bit as he asked, and Timor flinched as he heard his own voice.

"…What do you mean by that?"

Timor shrugged. "Ah, I just wanted to see how you were feeling, though I don't think… erm, you just seem a bit… uh… well, murderous at the moment, you're normally kind of calm and solemn," the boy admitted sheepishly. "B-but it's not a bad thing, really, don't kill me!" he amended hastily, voice shrilling unintentionally as Hitsugaya turned around very slowly.

"I won't kill you, so you don't need to look like you are going to wet your breeches any minute." The low voice held a hint of exasperation, and the gangly teenager, currently holding his hands above his head, looked sincerely relieved and extremely embarrassed.

"Y-yea, I guess so…" Timor scratched the back of his head ruefully. "Sorry for being so accusatory, I'm kind of jumpy tonight. I nearly got dragged by a horde of girls to the place that Odin only knows about, haha. It was quite terrifying. It's not fun, and I didn't want to hurt them getting away. Heavens knows. I'm wearing black too, more inconspicuous than the norm, like that eye-watering yellow that bloke's wearing. It's absolutely horrendous. I don't really like bright colors," he chuckled, shaking his head and pointing at himself.

He cast a quick, fleeting glance towards the figure that barely reached his chest, careful not to let his eyes linger for too long because it would be impolite. Nonetheless, it felt so incredibly weird seeing Hitsugaya as the ominous figure on the battlements again, not as the short kid who liked green tea and enjoyed the peace.

Hitsugaya was dangerous, he realized with a chill. So different and otherworldly. So changeable and fitting to circumstances. He wouldn't want to be the person on the opposite end of his sword, Timor smirked. What a guy to be allies with.

"Hn," was the delayed reply, and the blond was lost for words, though it seemed to happen a lot these days.

"Uh," Timor floundered wildly for a suitable talking subject, grasping desperately to the only one he could think of. "Have you seen Jackson yet?"

The eyelids stayed over the aquamarine orbs a bit longer than usual. They snapped open as they recalled the person in subject. "Jackson, meaning your companion from the days before. No, I have not seen him. Why?"

"I just wanted to bring him to attention, see. He looks like a lovesick bird. It's hilarious, but seeing as he has one heck of a good-looking partner it shouldn't really matter," Timor grimaced, pointing towards a slow-dancing couple in the center.

Jackson was wearing a falcon-like mask, grey and silver feathered. It sat on his face, and his eyes glowed from inside the depths. Garbed in pale lavenders and whites that matched his soft grey, his dancing partner was resplendent even when the upper face was covered by a butterfly's outstretched wings. Jackson clearly looked sappy, and his ears were tinged a light pale pink that could have been excused as a reflection off the girl's gauzy dress, but like Timor had said, with that expression, no one could mistake the coloring for anything other than a high blush.

The girl's smile, Hitsugaya noticed, looked small but it made her seem happy, though it did not warm up her light hazel eyes entirely.

**…Like how the crags on the mountains never defrost in the summer.**

Timor saw his stare and nodded, "That's Marta of the Rocky Summits. She's a walking enigma, really. I know Jackson likes her, but I don't know how it's going to turn out later. She has mood swings a lot, that one. Oh, hey, Eodur!" the blond footsoldier called out to a wispy-looking adult who seemed to have a sort of limp to the left leg who was heading to the front door. He had just knocked down a chair and was apologizing fervently to the person he had bowled over along with the seat.

"Aaah, Timor, fancy seeing you here," Eodur stuttered. "Are you busy?"

"No, nothing much's going on- this is Eodur, Eodur Dotingson, Hitsugaya. Hey, have you got a partner? The girls are scary tonight. I'm just here to keep an eye on Jackson." In a lower voice Timor said, "He's amazingly dim at times."

Hitsugaya watched the exchange curiously.

"I've got a date, yes," Eodur smiled nervously. "Janice Fowler. Marched up to me looking dangerous. Ordered me to take her. Not like the normal Janice at all. The girls are scary tonight," the black-haired man repeated, dragging his left leg on the ground as if to remove something.

"What's wrong with your leg?" Timor cut in.

"Eh, this old guy? Nah, just pulled a muscle. During special training with the generals. Don't even know why I'm there, really. Haha. General Amelie- yes, she makes us call her Amelie, says Reginald sounds _old_- is strict during training. Not the same. A driller. Master driller, to be frank. General Charles Horton just…barks out comments. More menacing though- like his eyes are seeing into your soul. He's more intelligent than he lets on," Eodur rattled on.

"Ah, but then there's General Osgood."

"Ah, yes, General Osgood," Timor echoed wonderingly.

"What about him?" Hitsugaya said sharply.

"Great man, Osgood. Very polite, but not insufferably so. Strong too. Intimidating on battlefield. Can take down a ton. Wonderful with the sword and mace. Prefers to use a longsword on field, though. Says using a mace is too brutal." Eodur said all of this very fast, and Timor just looked at Hitsugaya expectantly, as if waiting for something like a "whoa" or a "wow."

"…I see." **They literally hero-worship that guy.** He cracked a knuckle. "What are your opinions on Captain Norrington, then…?"

The effect was immediate. Timor's sunny face darkened as if storm clouds had settled over them, and Eodur cracked his knuckles menacingly.

"I hate that man," Timor snarled. "He always acts differently around the higher-ups, and then he uses his rank as an advantage when it comes to those of lower ranks. He's got the talent, sure, but that _bastard_," the dirty-blond hissed, "Just seems to love making us footsoldiers feel inferior. I bet he bribes some of us to keep quiet too, he's gotten some of the stronger footsoldiers in the regiments to back him up."

Eodur nodded vigorously to emphasize the point, and for a moment Hitsugaya wondered how someone could look so ridiculous and yet so pointedly insistent.

"B-but anyway," Eodur hurried on, waving his hand, "On to better subjects. I heard," he added in an undertone, "That you're going to be the new warlock? Like, that ice one the Queen was talking about. For your undercover."

Hitsugaya nodded. "Aa, yes. How did you know…?"

Eodur grinned, looking more certain than anytime Hitsugaya had seen him. "Was there when you popped up that night," he beamed. "Terrible wounds, healed them up already?"

"Aa, yes."

Eodur nodded. "If you're looking for a healer, head for the Fowler's. Mrs. Fowler's a healer. Splendid at her job. Wouldn't be surprised if she was a witch in disguise."

"Yea, she healed Jackson's hands after he scraped them raw from practice. How's Jackson in the training squads anyway? He hasn't told me anything," Timor complained. "I heard he's under General Amelie's squads."

But the man was not listening, his face looking frozen in horror.

"Ah, Odin, mercy. I see Janice at the door," Eodur moaned. "Wanted to stay put tonight. Looks gorgeous though, Janice. I can tell it's her- brown hair with natural gold-brown streaks. If she asks for me," he groaned, "Tell her I'm in the bathroom."

And as quickly as he came, Eodur hobbled off painfully and looking as if someone had just died.

"Is he always like that?" Hitsugaya inquired of Timor.

Timor made a funny noise. "Yup. Eodur's just kind of out of it all of the time. I dunno why, but I don't mind, to be truthful. He's a good guy though," the blond footsoldier noted. "Knows all of the passages in this fortress. Trust me, it can get confusing a lot of the time. I got lost just a few days before you arrived, and I've been living in this place for a while now."

There was a momentary silence as the entire room gaped at the mysterious new woman who arrived, and when the hullabaloo started up again, Hitsugaya murmured to Timor, "If you need me, I'll be out in the hallways, anyway."

"Starting your investigation early?" Timor asked delicately. He didn't want the shinigami to leave.

"Yes." Hitsugaya said curtly.

"Must be frustrating," the footsoldier mumbled dejectedly, but Hitsugaya was already moving away.

Timor watched the small figure recede into the crowd that was filled with too many black cloaks than there were supposed to be, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a slick feminine voice behind him.

"Have you seen Eodur?"

"Aaah!" Timor yelled, leaping backwards. "Ahaha," he laughed breathlessly, patting his chest where his heart was threatening to thump out, "You scared me, Janice."

"Have you seen Eodur?" Janice repeated patiently, one hand on her skirt and the other on her hip.

"Uh-uh," Timor said uncertainly, "Um, no, I mean, yes! He's- he's in the bathroom- if you need him, of course."

Janice gave a sort of sigh that sounded more silky-smooth and something to be wary of. "That boy is always looking for trouble." She sighed again, and fingered her long black gloves. "So troublesome," she spat, somehow refined even when annoyed, "So troublesome I wonder why I even deal with him."

"I guess so," he drawled, inching slightly away from her. "You're very different tonight," he remarked offhandedly in a light manner. "What caused the change?"

The girl snorted, and reached for a drink on the table he was next to. "Nothing much," she answered casually. "I've always been this way, I guess. It's just that no one _notices_, really."

She smiled, and looked brightly at him, and Timor could see a subdued shadow of the old Janice. "But it's not the _quiet_ ones you've got to watch, so you'll be fine." She laughed, her shoulders hunching into the gesture. Janice wiped a tear from underneath her face-covering. "It's the ones that _blend_ into you life that you've got to watch, Tim. The ones that manage to wriggle their way into lives unnoticed are the ones that disrupt everything," she added darkly as she sipped her drink.

Timor winced at the use of his nickname. "Janice, what's up with you?"

She grinned, a more Janice-like move than ever, and he could vaguely see her freckles come out. "I don't know," she said, "But I don't think it's half so bad. It makes me feel…" Her voice dwindled away as she searched for a word, and then the old Janice was gone as quickly as it came as she declared, "I feel so deadly and controlling and _alive_, Tim. I don't know, it just _happened_, I'm sure you'll understand. After all, you aren't the person you were either. Always _happy_, you are now. Before, you were _so_ ridiculously serious. Well, I think you still are. You just hide it better. Like me, I guess."

"What is _up_ with you, Janice?"

A worried sort of expression came over what he could see of her face, and she drank down some more punch before clattering it back down onto the table. "I'll be normal tomorrow. I'll bet. But not exactly the same. I doubt I'll ever be," she noted again, even darker than before. Her red lips were set into a thin line, and she laughed, though her mouth seemed slow on the uptake, edges curling up lazily.

"The girls are scary tonight," Timor said mostly to himself.

"Oh yes," Janice agreed, dropping her glass and moving towards where she just saw Jackson waltz behind another couple, glaring at Marta.

"Oh yes," she repeated thoughtfully. "The girls are scary tonight."

* * *

Jackson cursed at Janice's bluntness when Marta excused herself from the twosome, clearly not very taken with the hostility and indirect insults fired at her.

Furiously spinning around to face his childhood friend- she was arrogantly posing as if for a picture, one hand under her left elbow and her left hand cocked by the wrist- his anger was spurred on by the fact that she looked like she was smiling, one corner of her lip curled up ever so slightly.

"What is wrong with you, Janice?!" he whispered furiously as he dragged her out onto one of the balconies.

She looked almost afraid of his reaction when he turned around, the cool and composed lady gone. His heart tugged in his chest. She was normal a few hours- days?- before.

Janice said nothing, her composure back, looking at him coldly, oddly.

Differently.

"Janice," he said almost pleadingly, "Aren't I your best friend?"

Something in her bubbled up and snapped, and Janice suddenly felt like a fire had erupted in her, a rage she couldn't control.

"Of all people, you should know!" she snarled, wrenching her arm from his grasp.

"You should know, you dense- dense- dense old bumbling fool!" the girl seethed. "Best friend?! Best FRIEND?! Do you think I wanted that? Do you think," her voice dropped, "That you are the only person in this entire Odin-forsaken world who can take care of things?! Don't make me laugh."

She brushed past him. Jackson flinched involuntarily. She felt cold.

"I should be back to normal tomorrow. Right now, I don't even get my life. I don't even get anything. Call it," she spat derisively, "Teenage mood swings. Teenage mood swings that last longer than a few hours."

He was left on the balcony wondering where they had gone wrong.

As Janice exited the Great Hall to return home- she didn't even want to see that goddamned fool of a boy that day- something roaring in her quieted, and she seemed to be reduced to naught but a slightly plump figure that reminded people of farm girls and the countryside.

* * *

On the deck of a ship surrounded by ice slowly breaking into thin slabs, dark-haired Damien stared intently at the checkered game board. The black figures were drastically outnumbered by white, which had lost no figures at all.

"Damn you to hell, Ichimaru," she growled, moving an ebony bishop to intercept his pawn, which was nearing one of her rooks. "Damn you beyond the eighteenth level of hell!"

"Maa, maa, lil' girl. Don't speak so dirty! It's not very polite, ya know," he grinned, moving his stark white bishop to take the bishop she just moved.

"Shit!" she swore, slamming her fist on the table, dark lips thinned into a line. The tattoo of a four-pointed star with a little circle between the left point and the top point, located under her right eye, was dark against her pale skin. Three more ran along her exposed left collarbone.

Ichimaru just continued to smile. "'Member our lil' bet? Ya've gotta answer one of my questions each time I take one of yah pieces."

"And I haven't taken one shitty one of yours yet!" Damien cursed, lip curling, dark curls framing her face. "You've already asked me about the Corsairs closest to me, their fighting abilities as well! Why should I be obliged to answer any more?!"

"Ya-re. ya-re, lil' girl. Keep ya promises." Long bony fingers fingering the piece just taken, Ichimaru chose the question that he had been itching to ask the more he saw those diamond markings on her skin.

"Those tattoos, lil' girl."

Damien looked startled. "What about them?" she replied gruffly, resting her face against her fisted right hand.

"Just wanna know wha' it's for."

She touched her cheek, seeming reminiscent. Her features darkened as she stumbled over a memory she didn't like, and she slapped a hand against the table. "Never mind, fox-face," she snarled. "I'm not answering that! Keep dreaming!"

Damien stood up to leave when Ichimaru grabbed her wrist. She winced as the hold tightened. "Keep ya promises, lil' girl. Lemme restate that for ya. Tell me wha' it's for, truthfully, 'n I'll letcha go with ya head on ya shoulders."

Yellow-green eyes, so much like a cat's, glowered menacingly at him.

His grin widened, and his face looked sinister.

Sometimes she wondered whether the alliance was mutual.

The Corsairs and Zephyr's commander sat down heavily into her seat. "You want to know what it's for, do you?"

He waited patiently.

"It's to mark members of the leading families of the Corsairs and Zephyrs. It's made when you're born. It's burned into your skin," the leader growled, "To make sure that if you ever want a better life than this, you can't run away. The more energetic and strong the baby, the more marks made."

Ripping her hand out of Ichimaru's grip, her voice lowered, every syllable deliberate and harsh, she scowled, "It's given to tie the heirs to the clan to this accursed life, Ichimaru. The lucky ones that run away leave this life, but they never, ever, lose the tattoo. The unlucky others that ran away got killed for cowardice. No one that I know of has ever survived. I am no such 'coward,' Ichimaru. Not like my brothers. Not like my sisters." She upturned the checkered board, and said thickly, "Game over. I never want to 'play' this again."

The door slammed behind her, splintering lightly, rusted hinges groaning. A candle blew out from the gust of wind.

Ichimaru could hear her shout orders through the heavyset door. "Onto starboard side, you great buffoons! Last one on deck gets strung up and beaten fifty! Lash the windward rope to the mast! Tie up the cloths, you idiots, prepare for the ice breaking up! Ocean's not going to have pity on you! I'm not going to either! Dogface, get your goddamned head out of your mush! Now!" A gunshot rang out and howls of fear rang out in the air. "Get!!"

"Maa, maa," he chuckled, picking up the scattered pawns and rooks and bishops. "Scary, scary." He set them up again, and looked at the board, shaking in the cabin.

His humor gone, he picked up a white pawn and moved it forward, setting it down with a quiet clunk.

"First move made, little dragon."

The albino felt the ship rock dangerously, and made his way out.

"Saa, whatcha gonna do now, Hitsugaya-kun?"

* * *

Aelthric ran along the hallways. He was going to be late for his date with Veronica, and he didn't want to be late at all. He crashed into another blur speeding down the passageways.

"Ah ah! Sorry there, gotta run," he said breathlessly, and tried to make his way along the person.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that, sir." The voice coyly wound its way around him, and Aelthric was mesmerized by the person's tones.

"I know you!" he shouted excitedly, pointing a finger. "You're-"

He was cut off immediately. "My Master has just given me orders, and I cannot go against them. Perhaps it is best to get this finished with, sir."

Aelthric blinked. "You mean Queen Thirrin? What does she want?"

The figure sighed dramatically. "Mortals are so foolish, even if they work for Master. I pity you."

Something was pressed to his chest.

_Flash of blue-white light-_

_Pain, suffocation, mind swimming, fear-_

Aelthric could see himself as if suspended in motion, falling backwards.

"Wha-!!"

_A glinting dagger was brought out from underneath the person's clothes-_

_A searing fire in his chest, tugged out bit by bit, like warm blood coursing over his body-_

_A searing fire in his chest, tugged out bit by bit, like he was losing some part of his identity, he was scared, wanted to run-_

_He could feel parts of himself moving as if to do something else-_

_As if to do something else somewhere else-_

He felt empty.

Aelthric's consciousness faded into nothing.

His body tumbled to the floor, eyes blank and limbs loose.

The dagger, clear of any blood, was tucked back into the person's sleeve. The person pulled on a torch-holder, and a secret chamber opened up, smelling musty and like mold.

Lips pursed, the murderer of Aelthric dragged the limp, brown-haired body into the chamber and left him there.

Clapping the hands as if to rid them of any contamination, the attacker surveyed the work done, and tugging on the iron bracket again, the chamber closed up with a resounding thunk.

Footsteps were heard coming softly down the hall, and the person, alert, fled the scene like a fleeing hare.

The only other being involved in this assassination was gone by the time Hitsugaya arrived on scene, having heard the sound of the stone wall sliding back into place.

Hitsugaya looked around a few times, and dismissed the sound as a figment of imagination.

"Tch. My senses are growing dull on me," he muttered, and continued down the still hallway.

* * *

On the deck, standing on the reishi particles in the atmosphere above the chaos with his multitudes of shinigami defaulters and Arrancar, Ichimaru Gin grinned even more. He beckoned to an Arrancar, who came forward obediently.

"Please receive our new addition to our ranks. He's located jus' beyond Frostmarris and our lil' taicho's reiatsu sensin' range. Oh, and should ya get any closer to Frostmarris, yah will get killed. Wouldn't want that, would we? Not that tha lil' taicho'll getcha first. Tha spy'll kill ya if ya get too close."

The Arrancar shivered under his closed stare, and sonido'd away with a "Yes, Ichimaru-sama! Understood, Ichimaru-sama!"

Ichimaru's hands fingered a thin fragment of a crystal in his pocket, the rainbow colors swirling around in a display.

"First move made, _little dragon_."

"Saa-te, I should get ta work."

* * *

In the middle of an ice plain, frozen over with age, ponds and lakes silvery and glassy like mirrors, gray clouds scudded over the horizon.

Hyourinmaru growled lowly, and unfurled his wings, sending pikes and shards of ice shooting out of the ground and blowing away dried, withered trees in their wintry beauty.

Hyourinmaru did not like the omens. He did not like the signs he saw, did not like the impending feeling of war on his Heavenly shoulders.

He especially did not like the sensation of anticipating and the emotion of foreboding and fear on his young master's shoulders.

Glowing, fearsome red eyes watched the slopes, alert.

The Heavenly Guardian roared.

**The first move has been made, Toushirou.**

**I sense it, little one.**

And the inner world churned with concealed emotions.

White out.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

I got bored and decided to stick them in chaos soon. Haha.

_**OSGOOD IS A REAL CHARACTER**_**.** HE APPEARS IN BOOK TWO. I HAD TO MAKE UP HIS FIRST NAME BECAUSE IT WASN'T MENTIONED._**AELTHRIC WAS ALSO A REAL CHARACTER**_**. **_**EODUR IS ALSO A REAL CHARACTER**_**. **HE WAS MENTIONED ONCE IN THE SECOND BOOK, I BELIEVE.

The beginning really drags on. Bleh.

My sadistic side is taking over. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It's nice, fat, and long. I stuck Ichimaru in for a good measure. I like Damien. She's a fun person to build on. Very... dark and kind of understanding.

Amelie annoys me a bit, haha. Imagine, characters I create annoying me.

I've got a migraine and can't find the bottle of Advil anywhere. It's gone -_-' Oh, the torture.

If you noticed that I switched to Toushirou with Hyourinmaru instead of Hitsugaya like before, it's because I thought that typing in Hitsugaya too much was annoying and that he was simply "Toushirou" in his dragon's eyes.

Reviews, anyone?


	10. Pesante

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Dedicated to Hitsugaya Toushirou's birthday, which is today, December 20th! 'Tis wonderful! I am happy. I've still got a lot of vacation homework though… hmph. And I've got a pain-o, I mean, piano recital tomorrow, and am going to humiliate myself in front of 100 or so people. Damn.

Thank you for everything you've done, reviewing, reading, story alerting, heck, even story favoriting! The people: **nalagaOcean777**, **Vi-Violence**, **shiro-kuro**, **Anonymous**,** Anonymous, Reaper, Reaper, ****ObsidianEbony**, **Tamashi Aisuto**, **Anastasia**, **Ruhen**, **9tail-Naruto**, **Dragon of Twilight**, and everyone else who recently reviewed, story alerted, favorited, and read!!

Right, anyway, I've got news for you people.

Firstly, one day, I tried to open a door a few days before this upload. Keyword: TRIED. But those dratted school doors are stone solid and I didn't know if anyone was going to open the door, so I reached for the handle. And got whacked in the face. It hurt! It really did! Didn't help that the person who opened the door was in a temper and threw it outwards. Ehem. Eh well.

I'VE ALSO GOT A POLL I'D LIKE PEOPLE TO VOTE ON!!

The title is a piano term, not Spanish. I'm not sure whether it's French or Italian- either would work, I guess. I'm betting on Italian though.

(I didn't have time to double check this for errors, so techinically this is the raw version of the chapter XD)

* * *

Declaimer: I do not own Bleach nor The Cry of the Icemark, but I do own this storyline.

**-Pesante-**

Thirrin curled up on her couch in front of a brightly burning fire, the sparks of gold and flames leaping up and licking hungrily at the logs. Optics reflecting reds and oranges, she pulled her thin quilt around her body tighter, curling her toes up under the white nightdress and lowering her head so it rested on her knees. Red-gold curls fell in front of her face, but she made no move to brush them away. She ran a finger over the sapphire panther's mask that she had worn, over the soft silk stretched over hard woven fibers, and made an angry move as if to throw it into the fire as she stumbled across her memories of last night's happenings. A shiver crawled slowly up Thirrin's spine, and the panther's mask dropped from her suddenly clammy fingers and rolled to a slow stop at the fire's grate.

Thirrin buried her face in her knees entirely, and flopped limply onto the cushioned armrest of the chair.

Last night was so strange, so incredibly _different_ and wild and _paranormal_, that she had no choice in what she could do. Hitsugaya had snuck away when her attention was diverted, and she was going to look for him and announce to the entire place that he was the real warrior from the day before.

The monarch pulled the blanket over her head and tried to stop her fluttering heart. It was smashing around in her chest like a broken musical box's cogs that kept on trying to turn though it couldn't. Her throat felt constricted, and her breath lodged in her esophagus and refused the budge, a heavy stone she was choking on.

Was there really a need to say that she never got to look for that dratted 103 year old shinigami? She had been intercepted by someone. Thirrin already knew most of the habits of the important people that wouldn't have groveled on the ground and begged for forgiveness for bumping into her. Thirrin was sure that she'd recognize his habits. So she looked at his clothes and the way he held himself, and was startled to come upon a realization.

She didn't even know his name.

Thinking that she might as well get a head on Hitsugaya and let this slip for once, Thirrin attempted to sidestep the man, no older than his sixteens or seventeens. She did try once or twice, but he blocked her path almost teasingly each time. Indignant, the teenaged girl was going to reprimand him and demand that he move aside, but she knew she'd dampen the mood and refrained.

_She didn't even know his name._

She looked up into his face instead, and saw a mask. She saw a white, staring mask, with black curlicues along the edges, modest but standing out in the mass of partying citizens.

She saw the mask, and the rest of the world kind of just fell away.

She curled up tighter as the fire devoured one log hungrily like a raving mad wolf.

_She saw the mask, and the rest of the world kind of just fell away._

The flames crackled heatedly, and she wriggled her toes that still felt frozen.

Then what about Oskan? What about him?

Didn't she feel differently about him than other people?

_Then what about Oskan? What about him?_

But accepting the stranger's wordless invitation to dance had just felt so right. But dancing with the stranger had just felt so right. Their calloused hands felt like they knew each other, fitting into each other like a ring does into its designated cushion in a jewelry box. Thirrin felt the same unusual feelings stir up into her, a veritable windstorm worthy of being feared.

Was this love, maybe?

But she'd felt so different when loving her dad. The Queen had just assumed the emotions would come to her as naturally as loving Redrought did.

_Was this love, maybe?_

She curled up even tighter, her face peeking out of her makeshift tent. Her fiery brows were tightened, and the lines around her mouth were strained beyond normal. In seven more hours, she reminded herself, would be when Hitsugaya would be introduced to the rest of Frostmarris as a prodigy ice warlock. He was to be known as simply 'Kannon,' a name that he had selected himself. Thirrin knew better than to demand that he should take upon a name familiar to the Icemark; being in a different land, his name was probably the closest thing to home that he had then, and the meaning was probably something he was suited to anyway. It was early morning now, besides. She wouldn't have much time for sleeping, as the orientation was at nine o'clock and now it was two, and she wanted to look authoritative at the meeting.

So the Wildcat of the North, Queen of the small but formidable Icemark, forced her eyelids closed though they felt like they had been rigged to stay up. Her breathing was uneven, and her hand reached for her pulse.

_Bum-bum. Bum-bum. Bum-bum._

Her heartbeats ran through her tingling fingertips.

Thirrin Freer Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Wildcat of the North, Queen of the Icemark, drifted into an uneasy sleep before the fireplace, her thoughts echoing endlessly and ringing in her ears, laughing raucously and mocking her stupidity.

* * *

In a frozen plain of ice, stretching out into eternity, a dragon stared defiantly into the dawning sky.

There was no sun.

Thick gray clouds, full of snow and hail and rain, scudded deeply over the dim white horizon. The winds were frosty and cooler than usual, and it was not because of the dragon's wielder's mood.

The omens were not faring well.

Brilliant ruby eyes bored into the surroundings, and Hyourinmaru settled down on a large jutting piece of ice, winding around it with his claws digging into the ice for support.

Hyourinmaru took in a deep, shuddering breath, his cool breath still frosting in the frigid temperature. The scaly chest filled with air.

Hyourinmaru roared.

Echoing in the distance.

Just like thunder.

* * *

Droplets of water dripped down from icicles frozen on the village roofs, rhythmic and unfaltering before the final drop.

The blinding sun's reach warmed up the peaceful hillside, undisturbed by the effects of war. Drunkards that had either passed out on the street or on the doorsteps of a disgusted family who didn't have the heart or the guts to move them finally came to, knocking on the doors of the people who wrapped warm quilts around them while they were sleeping, profusely thanking them if they were sober enough; those that weren't quite right in the head yet just handed back the blanket and gave them a sort of slobbery smile.

Stirring from his twisted sleeping position on a lopsided mound of roughly woven sacks containing some sort of very smelly herbs, located in a very isolated alley, Peter Rabbitt was no exception.

Peter Rabbitt was not your average Frostmarris soldier. For one, his parents had decided to name him after one of their favorite folktale characters, obliviously subjecting their one and only son to countless years of teasing and a rather solitary life. The other weird thing was that he hid his face underneath a curtain of silvery-brown hair, making people believe that he was slightly deformed and embarrassed about it. Last but not least, Peter Rabbitt was also one of the most esteemed generals in the Icemark, though he kept up his heavy drinking habits and could always cleverly wriggle his way out of bad situations, using the fact that he always sobered rather quickly for someone who drank a tavern out of all their barrels of beer as an excuse.

But even though no one treated him like he was a dung head and with a whole lot more respect, Peter Rabbitt still drank his worries away every night.

Recently, there'd been a lot of things to worry about, and worrying made his chest feel like a lump of leaden rock.

And obviously, he did not like his chest feeling like a lump of leaden rock.

Sluggishly rubbing his crusty eyes, he straightened, back cracking loudly as joints popped from being in a curled up position for far too long.

Folding the blanket that some person had draped over him and leaving it on the sack of herbs, Peter looked up expectantly at the morning sky and pinpointed approximately what time it was from the position of the burning sun.

And just then, for Peter, it seemed that his world momentarily stopped, the birds flying in the sky freezing, the water droplet falling coming to a shuddering halt.

…Ah.

_"Peter Rabbitt," an overly exasperated teenage Queen growled, a hint of a warning in her voice, "You better be at the General's Meeting Room tomorrow by 9:00 a.m., understand? A very important, er, warlock is coming along. A prodigy, even. We've got to give him a good first impression of the Icemark. No buts!" She waved off his feeble protests ("Can't you change the time? I mean really, nine o'clock is rather early, isn't it-") and sternly dismissed him, a smile tweaking her thin lips._

The sun's position in the sky clearly pointed out to a frozen general that it was either already nine o'clock, or that it was nearly time for that blasted Meeting.

…Truly wonderful. Absolutely splendid.

"Oh, shit," he growled lowly, breaking into a light power-walk.

Noticing that he also smelled horribly and that his clothes –a dirtied brown coat with the collar turned up to his cheeks, a twisted grey wool sweater, and slightly ragged blue pants- were truly inappropriate for a general's meeting, Peter was forced to add another fervent, "Oh, _SHIT_."

His power-walk accelerated to a jog, which excelled to a slow, steady running pace. But when he noticed that he didn't have to just change, and that he also needed something to disguise the smell of alcohol, he rethought about his pace.

Passerby would begin to wonder why there was a loud and rather distressed yell that consisted of explicit wording, covering their innocent children's ears as the call echoed in the distance.

* * *

Faded and worn flags hung regally from the arched ceiling, white rafters supporting the domed glass roof. Streaking in through the thin paneled windows, soft sunlight illuminated everything a sharp golden light, falling across different faces, shading in their eyes and coloring their cheekbones.

A long white table sat solemnly a few meters away from the door, the walls lined with leather-bound books, maps, and pictures of red-haired rulers and dark-haired generals whose names were truly revered in their time. Her hair an equal shade of flaming crimson, Thirrin sat straight-backed and authoritatively in her seat, eyes running approvingly over the leaders of parts of the militia. Starting down from her end of the table, the generals and a few captains, from most important and trusted to the least, sat still, the younger ones arrogantly proclaiming their presence in the room by letting their elbows lay on the table, resting their faces on their fists. Oskan sat right next to Thirrin, a tight look on his pleasant face, and Maggiore Totus tottering to the austere monarch with a massive pile of plans and books, an ink bottle and a quill balancing dangerously on the top.

Standing next to the door, unsure of where to go, the patrol guards and the sentries that had an idea of who Hitsugaya Toshiro was and that Kannon was just an alias shifted rather uncomfortably. They attempted to look casual by sending their weight from one foot to the other, trying to loosen the coiling emotions violently churning in their stomachs.

Timor failed to hide his anxiety dismally. He thought that his mind would break within seconds, and he wondered if Hitsugaya, who was waiting patiently outside the dark red door, leaning against one of the pillars, was feeling the same. The atmosphere was intense, the stares of the generals drilling into their brain. The contempt the higher-ups held towards the rookies radiated fiercely in those stares, whipping around the soldiers. However, Jackson looked absolutely at ease and at his element, being one of the kinds of people that could not be easily intimidated by power, but impressed by it.

Timor thought that Jackson looked at ease, but wasn't really.

Jackson had been kind of spacey a while after Janice had left the masquerade, and when Marta had come back to find Jackson after Janice left, he'd gone off and said that the date was over. Marta had looked affronted, but softened when she saw that Jackson was somehow disturbed.

His best friend was still slightly shaken by the night's events, but it wasn't enough to stop him from winking at a high-cheek boned, dark skinned female general. The general had no reaction to him though, just a glare from the mysterious eyes and the upturning of the chin.

Jackson grumbled almost imperceptibly, and Timor could see from that one movement, Jackson's ego had taken a severe beating.

Jackson then took the moment to wink at Amelie Reginald, who he had never really the chance to talk to before- she spent most of her time supervising the footsoldiers who had a promising career in front of them- and to his glee, she responded with a wide grin and a wave. Jackson mouthed something that looked like an invitation to meet later, and Amelie acquiesced grandly with a flourish of her hand.

Timor could have almost hit his head on the wall, and resisted repeating the action as Eodur panicked and said very loudly that he needed to visit the bathroom again, tripping over others in his mad scramble for the door.

* * *

Panting heavily, Peter rushed through the halls of Frostmarris's fortress, pulling on his clean socks and dabbing perfume that he snatched from his deceased mother's collection –the Lords of Valhalla bless her soul- lightly all over himself to conceal the heavy scent of alcohol. Dragging a blue overcoat and buttoning on top of his poor outfit, he took the opportunity to throw his original coat to the side. Disregarding the stares he got from passerby like he always did anyway, the flustered general yanked on his black, shiny boots he only reserved for important occasions. Deciding to take the shortcut to the Meeting, he raced through a hidden passageway by pushing in a few loose stones in a certain order, fidgeting impatiently as the door to the passageway slid open ever so slowly.

The hassled man charged helter-skelter into the hallway, ripping a dying torch from its bracket on the wall and holding it in front of him. He silently thanked whoever had the intelligence to come in here and light up the torches day after day and still be able to keep this passageway pretty much a secret.

The fire, even though it was faint, cast ominous shadows in the crevices. The faded drawings on the walls looked eerily realistic, the faces thrown in and out of focus by the uneven rock they were painted on. He ignored a rat that had the misfortune to stumble across him while he was rushing and gave it a hefty kick as it passed by, muttering, "Good riddance, Mr. Rat."

He ran into someone halfway through the dark and damp passageway, and cursed very loudly as he dropped his torch and saw that it spluttered out on the wet ground. He looked up and was ready to let loose a bit of anger at the person when the man spoke, lifting up his own light to show his face.

"Hello, General Peter Rabbitt."

"Ah!" Peter beamed from underneath his fringe as he remembered the all-so familiar face. "I know you… can't seem to place your name though! Hey, did the Meeting start yet?"

"No, not yet," the person said carelessly. "But you'll be late anyway even if you hurried…"

Peter frowned because the person was acting incredibly out of character. His hand lightly fingering his sword that he was required to carry around everywhere in times of war, he questioned nonchalantly with a lift of his head, "And why is that?"

A shrewd eye calculated whether he'd be able to wring information out of this man and still be in time for the Meeting.

There was a large smile, and the eyes of the man narrowed as the lines around them became more prominent in his grin. One of the pale hands darted down, a blur as he pulled something out. Peter's eyes quickly caught the movement, one of his hands mirroring the movement as he drew out his weapon smoothly, the point of the weapon now resting at the man's collarbone.

"What are you trying to pull here?!" he snarled. Peter was certainly not in the mood for a fight at the moment.

The mad smile widened.

"I'm going to pull what happened with Aelthric. Poor boy. Missing since last night, and parents don't give a damn. They probably think he's with… ah, Veronica."

"Aelthric was missing? You killed Aelthric?" Blank shock was on Peter's face. Aelthric was a pretty strong and supple boy, more so than this man, so what…?

"Asking questions will get you nowhere. But I can say I didn't kill him."

"You didn't kill him? Do you mean that _you _didn't kill him, or you didn't _kill_ him?"

"Interpret it the way you wish."

The man lunged forward, twisting Peter's arm and whacking the blade aside with his bare hand, shoving something onto Peter's chest.

Peter's eyes widened and his mouth began to form out the man's name as he felt something being removed in him, something being dislocated in the second that he felt the thing collide with his chest.

There was a flash of a cold blue-white light, and suddenly Peter couldn't breathe, the air pressing down on him, suffocating him in its grasp-

He felt a blinding hot, searing pain on his chest, burning, madly twisting, wrenching-

He stared at his torso blankly, still valiantly struggling for air as the man's hand tugged something out of his heart, the feeling shattering and breaking into the air-

He remembered the man's name, but couldn't speak-

It hurt, his chest hurt, the sudden emptiness hurt, he needed something to fill it up, wanted the warmth back-

He was disappearing, blackness overwhelming, vision swimming, a bloodcurdling scream silent in his throat-

The man's name was lingering on his tongue, a horrible sour taste-

Peter Rabbitt's last coherent thoughts were on whether he'd get punished or not and receive proper burial rights when they found his body, most likely eaten away by the rats by then.

A whisper rang out into the silence.

"Sorry. But it's all for one."

The passageway opened and the man climbed out.

"One for all simply doesn't happen."

* * *

Thirrin was feeling unsurprisingly irritated as she waited for one General Peter Rabbitt. He was already 30 minutes late for the Meeting, and she couldn't hold out for his absence much longer.

She would have elbowed Oskan for advice if not for the fact that he unusually distant today, and she wasn't feeling up to talking to him after the masquerade.

Thirrin stood up, her chair scraping noisily against the floor. The room was instantly quiet. Timor stood up, if possible, even straighter.

Clearing her throat, she began to address all the officers gathered in the room.

"As many of you have heard, we are welcoming the warlock prodigy Kannon into our ranks." She ignored a heavily coughing guard, one that had been present at the cell phone incident, and continued on egotistically. "First of all, there are a few guidelines you must follow for your own good. For instance, no one here is to refuse his requests. No, not even I should refuse his requests, he is that important," she added, noting the generals' skeptical looks. "Plus, if he asks you a question and you lie, he should be able to tell as well. He can read body language."

"Body language readin'? Weird person," Charles Horton said instantly.

Amelie face-palmed a split second later. "Amazing deduction, boot-head."

"Yes, it is a rather interesting ability," Thirrin agreed, "You can find some time later to talk to him about it in greater depth, since I am no expert in that field. We are here to also discuss battle plans, and he's also collected quite a lot of information on the enemies' new allies. Oh, and a warning to all: he is fully capable of taking down the allies of the enemy on his own-"

Magnus, who was only at the meeting because the general he worked under recently died and there were no candidates for a new general, interrupted. "What do you mean, he is fully capable of taking the enemies' allies on his own? Are you saying that he is better at swordsmanship than everyone in this room?"

Thirrin eyed him carefully. The silver-blond man's eyes glittered in the light, and the shadows shifted as the sun headed up a bit more to its pinnacle in the sky.

"Yes and no. He has superior abilities in other areas that benefit his sword training, but seeing as I've only seen him in action once and that time he didn't have much time to show off only his sword abilities, I can't say accurately."

Silence reigned heavily as the warriors exchanged dubious glances. Amelie spoke up.

"No disrespect meant, Highness," she said, confidence leaking out from her every gesture, one tanned hand placed on the white table, "Are you absolutely positive that he is better with the sword than all of us here? We consist of some of the best swordsmen on the planet, and surely we should have heard of him before if it is so?"

"Good question," Oskan answered, taking over for a moment. "We are absolutely positive, yes. But you should not have heard of him; he lived in a very secretive society, but because the witches and warlocks have joined forces with the Icemark for the time being, he's been called back here for assistance. Does that answer it?"

Thirrin could have snorted derisively at Oskan's tone. He sounded normal enough to other people.

Amelie nodded, her chestnut curls swishing around her face as she returned to her seat, the spark of a challenge in her eye. She always liked a challenge; it was exciting for her to meet someone else who was strong. "He's just another person to strive up to."

Eodur snuck back into the room almost shyly. "S-sorry," he stammered, but his apology went unnoticed in the spur of the moment.

"Are there any more questions?" Thirrin said stiffly, ignoring Oskan's pointed stare that seemed to look past her into the wall.

Around the long rectangular table, everyone shook their heads, looking to Thirrin for further instructions. Pointing to Timor, she said, in full Queen persona now, "You may send him in."

"Yes ma'am!" Timor instantly snapped to attention and strode purposefully towards the massive red door, opening it and calling out, "Kannon, you can come in now."

Oskan still paid no attention to Thirrin, and her chest hurt. At least I still have the stranger from last night, she thought defensively. At least...

* * *

Pushing himself off the tall marble pillar that he'd been leaning on, Hitsugaya Toushirou snapped his Spirit Phone shut and pushed it into a pocket of his pants.

He'd been outside for a while and took the moment to submit a report to Soul Society, whom he could still call but not return to. It was very easy for Hitsugaya to submit a report in 40 minutes' time; he'd been required to submit a seven foot tall stack of paper in 3 hours before and had actually managed to cram all of it into the time he had left, as well as half of Matsumoto's share.

Hitsugaya had made the report as detailed and clear as possible, not excluding the fact that he'd revealed himself without permission, but deeming it was absolutely unavoidable. He'd included Imada's duel with him, and stuffed in a bunch of things for his division's third seat and fourth seat to research.

He'd ordered them to search up the idea of kido spells cast before one's death remaining after one's demise. It was something that had to be addressed immediately; he'd felt something shatter over Imada when Imada was close to the brink of death, and recognized it to be something equivalent to a kido spell. That was the only reason why he'd honor Imada's request.

Worst of all, the fading reiatsu molded into the spell lingered in the back of his throat as he read the signature, burning unpleasantly as he remembered it.

Who wouldn't remember Aizen Sousuke's reiatsu? Aizen Sousuke was well beyond dead, Hitsugaya was certain; Tousen had confirmed it before Komamura finished the blind man off. So what was the spell over Imada?

Carefully, before he walked into the Meeting Room, Hitsugaya adjusted Hyourinmaru's strap to his back and made sure Hyourinmaru's cover, a scratchy brown canvas bound up messily with a loose cord of string, didn't reveal the sheath or the star-shaped tsuba. People had seen his zanpakutou while he was fighting the day before, and if anyone recognized it, trouble would definitely fly his way.

Tugging down his long black sleeves not too unlike a shihakushou's, he gave Timor a nod before he stepped into the shadowy yet brightly lit room, sea-green eyes automatically taking in every single aspect as well as every occupant seated.

The nine faces of the military's higher-ups, ranging from the late teens to early sixties, stared at him in a mixture of shock and disbelief. Thirrin, seated at the head of the table, gave him a slight quirk of the lips which he took as a feeble attempt at a smile. (AN: Ten generals, yes, but Peter is missing. He doesn't know that though :P)

Unnerved by the silence, he questioned, "Are your generals always like this?" The inquiry was directed at Thirrin, who blinked.

Sighing lightly, she shook her head. "No, normally they aren't. In fact, they're rather talkative. It's just that your..."

The daughter of Redrought, Bear of the North, searched for the right words.

"...Appearance took them by surprise," Oskan finished for her, grinning down at him. "Well, I suppose it's only appropriate to say that, ladies and gents, that this is in Kannon."

There was a loud guffaw from the left corner of the table, and Hitsugaya's eyes quickly found the laughing man, who thumped his hand on the table. "Him?" the man laughed, brown eyes shimmering with mirth. "Kannon? Better at the sword than everyone else here?" He waved a hand at everyone seated at the table. "You're kidding me!" Some mirrored his sentiments, others looked on. However, he could clearly read their emotions; they weren't as capable of keeping their faces straight as Kuchiki Byakuya, and of late, Unohana, who'd taken up the tradition to keep her overflowing emotions intact. Hitsugaya noticed Charles Horton looking at him shrewdly, the one silver eye meeting his teal.

**He is challenging you, little one. To see how you handle the situation at hand.** Hyourinmaru murmured in Hitsugaya's ear, rising up to a defensive position in Hitsugaya's inner world, wings unfurling and forcing the icy land up, jagged edges of ice reaching towards the pale blue sky. **Shall we step up to the challenge?**

**Either way, I'd have to deal with this sooner or later. It's not like I have a choice.**

**…I do not like your tone of voice, little one. It appeals to your more reckless nature. What wild idea are you going to pull now-**

The man that had laughed at him was forced to stifle a shout as several lethal-looking ice crystals sprung into being, the sharp tips resting on the man's exposed throat.

"I did not know people here were so quick to judge upon appearances," he said smoothly, piercing eyes homing in on the person that had ever-so-clearly expressed his opinion. After a few very long seconds (especially longer for the man), with a light twitch of his fingers, he allowed the ice to crumble and dissipate into a sort of shimmering dust.

"Underestimation can often lead to your death in battles," Hitsugaya said, face as straight as ever. "It's never too late to learn."

He noticed Oskan had trouble keeping his mouth in a firm line and Thirrin was coughing into the back of her hand. Amelie's eyes were shining and Osgood looking on appreciatively.

**How's that for you, Hyourinmaru?** Hitsugaya asked audaciously. He was in a better mood than normal. Maybe it was because a tray of some of the best green tea he had ever tasted had been catered to his room. He wasn't going to show his mood though.

Hyourinmaru relented enough to cough lightly. **…Fair enough. It was an interesting idea.**

"Now," Hitsugaya stepped into the sunlight, his features thrown into a heavier relief, oceanic eyes far brighter and more piercing, "Shall we begin?"

* * *

After looking to Thirrin –whom he noticed was sitting as straight as a ramrod and looked not too unlike Kuchiki Byakuya in his Stern Aristocrat mode- for an affirmative to officially start the meeting, Hitsugaya decided to be as blunt as possible. But, he made sure he didn't sound so blunt he appeared to be a rock-hard idiot like some of the other shinigami in existence (in other words, Madarame Ikkaku, who always pissed Kusajishi off with remarks about her sense of direction and refused to admit that he was bald, or that fool Kurosaki Ichigo, who couldn't even see that there were two girls fighting over him at the moment, despite being around them 24/7.)

"First of all, you should all be familiar with those soldiers with inhuman powers, and those that look relatively like humans but with plates of bone on them. It would only be proper to tell you that they are all under the control of Ichimaru Gin, Gin being his first name, Ichimaru his last."

"Though I hate to admit it, Ichimaru is very powerful. Even if the reports that were sent to you said the soldiers implanted in your militia withdrew, Ichimaru will have more up his sleeve, and we should be prepared. There are around two more months left for everyone to prepare for what I'd like to think of as the final battle in March. They have around 200 people. We overpower them in numbers, but in terms of power, they overwhelm us drastically."

"And what do you say we should do about it?" demanded a weathered general who had the beginnings of a scruffy brown beard.

The white-haired prodigy's gaze instantly snapped towards the man.

"I was just getting to that," he said coolly, making the man's neck flush red in embarrassment. "I believe we should set up a few days of the week for training sessions, everyone included. We can separate the regiments into different numbered squads, and have them spar each other in mock fights. You, the generals, and perhaps even Queen Thirrin herself will walk amongst them and correct them, and at the end of the day you can also spar each other to give them a set example for what they could be. Or, we could give them group training, as in teaching them to fight in organized groups to take down the opposing side."

Oskan was looking at him in an almost odd fashion, appraising yet wondering. He returned the gaze for a few seconds, and then closed his eyes. He felt the tension in the room lower as soon as he closed them, and wondered whether they thought his eyes were terrifying like the peasants back in Rukongai's Junrin'an did as well.

He let out a deep breath. "I understand if this goes against your idea of training, but this is the best way to win this war of yours."

"I think it's a fine idea," came a strong voice rather close to him. "It's also a motivational practice. Nice to meet you, Kannon. I'm Amelie Reginald, but most people call me Amy. I look forward to working more with you; not everyone meets a genius in their life."

"And I look forward to working with you," Hitsugaya said uncomfortably. It was weird, being reintroduced to a person he'd met last night.

The general who had laughed at Hitsugaya earlier caught the brilliant sea-green orbs and looked away, still shame-faced.

Charles Horton rumbled, "O' course, 'tis the only way to win this war, like Kannon said." Leaning onto the table, the elderly warrior said in his gravelly voice, "'M Charles Horton Murphy, sonny. Dun spend too much time 'round piggy-girl there, she'll rub off on yeh and yeh'll go bad like her." Amelie snorted, but refrained to comment.

Hitsugaya felt even more awkward, but his posture, if he knew his body parts well enough, looked relaxed.

"I see."

"And…I am General Eodred Powers," mumbled the man who had directly insulted Hitsugaya. "I apologize for my behavior earlier."

"General Sigurdson. Repeat what Eodred said here. 'Nuff said," declared the darker and weathered man, his stubbly chin resting on a thick browned fist.

Hitsugaya straightened his shirt collar. "Thank you. More importantly," he said, "When would be the most ideal time to have a training session? I am still unfamiliar with your schedule."

A black-skinned woman with a strong chin answered in a deep voice. "I believe we all have time from after luncheon to around 3 o'clock everyday. Then, we also have a flat break session from 4 to 5 soon after. There is not much to be done in the winter, seeing as we have all finished it already. We should all be able to fit the training into that amount of time." She looked demandingly around the table, dark eyes glittering, four long braids lying across her back. "Am I right?"

There was a murmur around the room. "Of course, we have the time, Barbara was correct," said a balding red-haired man slowly, "But, it is the question of 'is is really necessary to train four hours' that is halting some of our judgments."

Laziness always ticked Hitsugaya off. It was just fate that saddled him with a loyal fukutaicho that would take a blade for him, but would never do a single paper even for fifteen bottles of her beloved sake.

"It is absolutely necessary, if you want to catch up to their level," Hitsugaya snapped. "Do you know how long these people have lived?"

Silence greeted him.

"They have lived far longer than any of you have. They have had centuries to train, to refine their techniques. They cannot die of old age. And to reach their level, they had to train even longer than 4 hours a day- most trained at least 12 a day! Do you understand?" he breathed, eyes smoldering.

At last, a man with eyes like pieces of cut glass said in ringing tones, "You speak of many battles, boy, yet you are far too arrogant. Do you not think that we know the severity of the matter? It is only General Carnwulf here that is being far too ignorant. We fully intend to train to the level that is required."

Hitsugaya's eyes narrowed a fraction. He deemed it necessary to swallow his pride, and he knew that his ego would have been beaten for the second time in his short stay in the Icemark.

"My apologies, then," he said curtly, dipping his snow-crowned head.

**It may seem to appear that Timor and Dotingson are correct about this man's personality, Hyourinmaru.** (AN: Dotingson is Eodur. Hitsugaya calls everyone else by their last name except for Timor because Timor doesn't have a last name, and Hitsugaya didn't directly call Jackson 'Jackson.' In the previous chapter, he only said 'Jackson' in reference to Timor's statement and identifying.)

Superciliously, Magnus nodded and continued on in a slight drawl.

"I am Captain Magnus Norrington, and am standing in for the previous general, Aethelstan, who perished in an attack."

It was clear what Norrington was trying to achieve.

Hyourinmaru snarled. **Pompous wretch**, the majestic creature seethed. **Trying to set you into a lower class than you are!**

Hitsugaya calmed Hyourinmaru with mental pats, though his pride stung and it had taken a lot of mental rebuke to quiet himself down. **A dragon cannot be put into his place, because his place is far too high to put him in. Relax. I will be fine.**

The dragon was still.

* * *

Magnus looked on almost sneeringly. The boy knew when to retreat with décor when it was time to.

He'd tried ever so hard to reach this position; he didn't want to be told what to do by a brat that looked like he'd lived through only ten to twelve Yuletides. It didn't help that the piercing eyes unnerved him either.

The type of eyes that someone who has the determination to seek the utmost level of power, the absolute.

He hated those types of people. They have seen nothing to have that determination, that right.

He noticed the fools near the entrance glare at him full-heartedly, dislike etched deeply into their features. Timor's and Jackson's were the deepest of loathing. Eodur's was light and slightly worried, but it was there all the same. He sneered all the more.

"Norrington, is it?" the boy said quietly, glimmering teal depths glowing again with certainty. "Well, Norrington, if you intend to truly train to the level required, then train eight hours a day, making up for the lost time you missed in the time which you have nothing planned for. I understand you will not like to be ordered around by someone who looks far younger than you do, but bear with it. If your pride gets in the way far too often, when you are required to drop that pride, it will be ever the more humiliating."

Magnus seethed. "What makes you think I can't drop my pride? What makes you think you can?"

Kannon gave a wry sort of harrumph. "I've had to often." As an afterthought, the boy added, "Deal with it as you must." Amelie smirked at Magnus near the front of the table, and mouthed, "The kid got you."

And… what ho, the blond captain officially hated this kid.

"Alright, Kannon. We will have training sessions from noon to four thirty in the afternoon. Anything you have scheduled from three to four will be postponed until after the training at five. This regime starts on February 1st, in two days," the Queen finished. Getting up from her seat and beckoning to Maggiore Totus, completely ignoring Oskan, who ignored her in return, Thirrin dismissed the rest of the generals.

Magnus reined in his anger until Kannon was officially out of earshot with that infernal footsoldier Timor that sucked up to every authority there was. Besides, how did Timor get to know the brat that well anyway? Maybe they'd bonded when the kid first came into Frostmarris, or maybe it was an instant friendship bond as Timor called the kid in. But that was too soon. Magnus settled on the fact that Timor was just a sucker-up.

Sigurdson's beaten hand came to rest on his shoulder. "What's wrong with you, mm? Look a little pissed there."

"Well," Magnus took a deep breath.

And promptly exploded.

"Of COURSE I'm angry!! What kind of ODIN-DAMNED kid would ACTUALLY PATRONIZE an ADULT WHO'S OBVIOUSLY MANY YULETIDES OLDER than HE is?! MORE PROFICIENT at the SWORD than the REST OF US?!! What kind of PERSON would BELIEVE THAT?!! I'm going to SHOW THAT KID what CAPTAINS are MADE OF in the Icemark during the training sessions, and let's see who's going to be PATRONIZED now!!"

Sigurdson laughed.

Magnus fumed.

"I got rebuked too, Magnus!" Sigurdson laughed. "Geez, don't let that get to you! He was right, though. I'd believe that he's a bloody good fighter if I were you. Though I'm not." Sigurdson chuckled a little bit again as his little joke. The captain didn't find that funny.

"And how so, Sigurdson?"

The other general looked a bit surprised. "Eh?"

"And how so, do you think that he's a 'bloody good fighter'?"

"Ah, well. That." Sigurdson scratched the beginnings of his beard thoughtfully. "I think it's because of his posture. Confident, cool, and when he's mad- mind you, I doubt he was even _mad_ mad, you know, think he was just slightly annoyed back then- well, when he's annoyed, then, he radiates the scary stuff. You know." Sigurdson made a weird little motion with his hands. "His form's just screaming that piss him off a bit more, you'll lose your man-parts. And that's painful. I think it was also his hands, too."

Magnus was now calmer than before. "His hands?" he questioned.

"Yup." Sigurdson nodded, and laughed. "His hands."

"How-"

"Protecting hands. They're protecting hands, Magnus."

"How do you know that?"

And with another chuckle, loud and not a bit mocking, Sigurdson patted Magnus on the shoulder. "You'll see. Well, want to go off to talk to Barbara with me?" he said, motioning towards the woman of Arifican descent. The four braids across her back shone in the winter sun. "Miss Zanzinetti!" Sigurdson called, waving one hand cheerily. "Wait up, yea?"

Barbara stopped only a moment before stiffly regarding him. "Sigurdson." Dark eyes finding the captain, she acknowledged Magnus's presence. "Norrington."

Magnus nodded to her too. He thought she was very knowledgeable, but cool and not willing to associate.

"Ahh, Barbara, want to take a walk with us?" Sigurdson invited.

They were given a swift shake of the head, and Barbara stalked off by herself, her hand set on her thin rapier of a sword, the lion-head hilt glinting yellow in the sunlight.

"Barbara, then why don't you come and take a swing in the taverns with us then?" Sigurdson yelled at her retreating six foot two tall figure. Barbara turned around.

"No, thank you, Sigurdson. I prefer to remain sober through the night."

She turned a corner, and Magnus caught the deep optics as she disappeared. There was a sort of telepathic understanding.

He sympathized with her. Sigurdson could be annoying at times, yes.

"So cold," Sigurdson said disapprovingly. "But she's a strong-willed woman. You know, about strong-willed women, I should tell you about this one time, when I was in a seafaring tavern-"

Magnus dismissed himself from Sigurdson's presence. Seeing Osgood sitting contemplating on a frozen bench, elbows resting on his knees, Magnus sidled down alongside him.

"What are you thinking about, General?"

Absentmindedly, Osgood waved his hand in the air genially. "Nothing in particular, Norrington. I was just wondering why Peter wasn't at the Meeting. Even if he's late, he always attends."

Magnus was startled. "That's right. I didn't notice Peter not being there."

Osgood nodded. "That was very disturbing. Peter and I are very good friends, best friends when we were younger. We drifted apart as we grew older, though. Also…" The brown-haired man sighed.

The captain waited for him to continue patiently.

"The prodigy warlock… Kannon…"

"The boy was a brat and disrespectful of our position in the Icemark."

Osgood gave a mild chuckle. "I thought he was exceptionally intelligent for someone of his age, Norrington. But that is not it. That is not it," he repeated. "He sounds very, incredibly familiar. He rings a bell in my head, but I am unable to place it."

Magnus snorted. "That's not likely, General. No disrespect meant. This is the dust-speck's first time in the Icemark."

The muscular general looked at the speaker, amused. "Dust-speck?"

"He's puny," Magnus said bluntly.

"So you are going to lord the height advantage it over him?"

"He's just above my waistline from what I can see," the womanizer scoffed. "Besides, I don't like the kid. No matter what you say, he's just overconfident and pompous."

Osgood shook his head sadly. "Someday, Norrington, you are going to regret your actions in the Meeting. It is not healthy to hate someone so much at first sight."

The captain stood up. "I know, General Osgood, but why don't we leave the subject as it is?" he inquired courteously. "I suggest we head over to General Amelie's training session at the moment and watch her."

"Yes," Osgood agreed. "That would be good, I believe. It would help soothe my conscience."

Magnus nodded. "No disrespect meant again, General, but I still think you are hallucinating. If anything, Charles Horton must have noticed something."

Before the two men left the corridor, the taller of the two said abruptly, "Now, forgive me for asking, Norrington, but why is it that you refer to me as 'General,' and the other generals by their first names except for the Queen, Zanzinetti, and Sigurdson?"

The shorter responded, astonished. "Because you are the strongest general! Sigurdson ought to be second strongest, and Zanzinetti is probably third with Charles Horton, who I only call Charles Horton because he prefers it. The Queen's level is unrivaled, and the rest are all under them."

Osgood took a deep breath, and his deep voice could be heard carrying around the corner.

"You are probably incorrect, Norrington. The Queen's level may be high, and her judgment strong, but Charles Horton is wily and cunning. However, his stamina has lowered drastically from old age. He does not fight in battles much, but I have heard that he was Redrought's best general in his time. Zanzinetti is also rather strong, but not exceptionally so. Reginald is around the same level as Zanzinetti as well. Sigurdson is a demon when angry. General Carnwulf Brising is probably the weakest, I should say. Peter, as for him, I have not seen him in battle since we passed our fifteenth Yuletide, but I have heard he is just as demonic as Sigurdson. Speaking of Peter, I am still worried. If he does reappear when it turns February, I will alert the Queen. He has been known to go missing for a few days, at most two..."

"And you…?"

"What about me?"

"Your strength level."

"I do not know, so to speak."

"General, I still think you are the strongest."

"…Think as you wish, Norrington. But are you sure it is not because you were under my special supervision when you were younger?" The ringing tones carried slight amusement.

"No, General." Magnus sounded very certain. "You are the strongest, though I was proved wrong with the others."

"…Very well, Norrington. Very well."

* * *

Amelie grinned as she clashed with Jackson. Their swords' edges were covered with protective material as to not permanently hurt each other.

Jackson screeched while fending for his honor. "WHEN I ASKED TO MEET YOU I DIDN'T MEAN IN THIS WAY!!"

"Well, specify next time! Hraaah! To the left, your footing is slipping!! Don't twist your wrist so much, if you break it and aren't ambidextrous, what then?!"

Timor watched, exhilarated. On the other hand, Hitsugaya was amused.

"Gaahhh! That hurt, General! W-whoop! Hrraah! Take that- tch!!"

"Missed, but close!! Ah, that was your stomach, Jackson!! Your guard's slipping!"

Jackson skidded to a halt on the end of the training ring, and caught Timor's grey gaze. Timor gave a cheeky wave. "You're getting pummeled, Jackson!" the friend said gleefully. "I wonder how many bruises you're going to end up with tonight!"

"What kind of best friend are you, Tim??!"

Jackson gritted his teeth, and lunged at Amelie. The chestnut-haired woman sidestepped, and Jackson was pleased to see her panting slightly as she was fighting.

Hitsugaya arched an eyebrow as he saw Jackson perform a complicated set of moves, dodging, leaping, and rolling around on the floor. The boy was improving, but he was still slightly amateur.

"Haahaa!" The female general laughed.

Jackson blocked a hit that was going directly as his throat, and aimed a swipe at Amelie's side.

Another metallic clang, and the general had stopped the blow as well as throwing Jackson back. Worn brown boots scrambled for a firm foothold on the stone ground, and the teenager kept his eyes riveted on his opponent. "Aaaahh!" Jackson gave a wild cry and leapt at Amelie. Anticipating an attack to the diaphragm, Amelie held her sword at ready.

Jackson changed direction and lunged for her left leg, which most of the weight was distributed on. Swampy eyes widening almost unnoticeably, she flipped her hilt around her wrist- a risky maneuver that would jangle the nerves a bit or break the wrist if the hit was strong enough, but it was very effective all the same- and caught the hilt firmly as the metal met Jackson's hit.

The footsoldier reared backwards and holding his broadsword upright, he pushed up as to try to jam the foible, the tip of the sword, through her jaw, a fatal move. Amelie leaned backwards and jabbed her weapon at his chest, which he slithered around swiftly, and managed to give her side a small whack- one that would have caused a cut the size of a paper cut.

But she had been hit all the same, and she grinned at being caught by surprise."Good, good!" Amelie cried exultantly. "Your movements are improving!" Amelie brought the level of the fighting up a bit more.

She spun around to parry Jackson's hit that was meant for her spine to take. "Hup!" she shouted as she literally threw Jackson away. Her chest heaved, trying to gulp in more air, though she was not panting very hard. "This is fun," she said eagerly as she stepped around the talented rookie's opposing range and out of the range of the broadsword. "Reeeally, fun, right," her opponent returned. Jackson's side was stretched too far as he tried to knock the woman out of his protective reach and a cry was torn from his throat as a muscle was pulled too hard.

Amelie didn't stop her attack, eyes gleaming cattishly. Jackson noticed the spark in her face and vainly struggled to decipher what she was planning next.

"Finishing blow!" she called out to the boy, who hurriedly tried to regain his state of balance.

Hitsugaya closed his eyes. He could see the next few moves clearly in his head.

Jackson leaned backwards precariously, arm flailing as Amelie ducked under his defense. His guard was far too open. Amelie's epee, a type of sword that was three quarters the length of a four foot broadsword and thinner, looped under Jackson's crossguard. The pommel of the blade was forcefully pulled from the brown-haired adolescent's grasp and flung across the room, where it landed upright in between two flagstones.

**And voila,** Hitsugaya thought dryly. **Disarmed.**

"JACKSON!! WELL DONE!!! YOU ACTUALLY MANAGED TO SCORE A HIT, YOU!!" Timor was cheering quite loudly, and from the looks that the other boy was casting him, he wanted Hitsugaya to join in too.

Hitsugaya refrained from cheering, but he did clap politely. He gave Timor a glare.

"There."

Timor merely gave a rather strained and meek laugh at the piercing emeralds and hastily turning around to the ring again, shouted even more uproariously, cold hands raw and red from clapping.

Hyourinmaru snorted in his inner world. **How fitting that this Timor is also very loud when he makes up his mind to be.**

**…Shut up,** Toushirou groused. **At least he sent me the tea earlier. **

**Really, now?**

**I sensed the slight reiatsu on the tray.**

**Aa. Your good mood has been soured, nonetheless.**

**I've got a migraine from all the screaming, if that's what you mean.**

**At least it is not your fukutaicho screaming, little one.**

Toushirou shuddered involuntarily.

* * *

Meanwhile, Amelie held out a hand to Jackson, who had fallen backwards on his rump.

"You're pretty good," she offered. "For a rookie, that is."

Jackson nodded appreciatively, hand holding his stomach, where Hitsugaya had correctly guessed a cramp had formed. "Th-thanks," Jackson said breathlessly.

"Mmhm. Hey, Jackson," Amelie said, winking, "How about you join my supervision squad? You'd be close enough to a Colonel, but not quite a Major. How's that?"

The teenager's face lit up like a brilliant light bulb, and the fyrd that surrounded the ring let out a massive roar of approval for their friend's promotion. "S-sure! That'd be great!" Jackson beamed, his voice traveling easily over the din.

"But I won't go easy on you," she warned, walking over to the broadsword and handing it to Jackson, who removed the protective covering on it and slid it into its large sheath.

"Yes!" Jackson nodded vehemently. Amelie's rapier was already in its dark green scabbard, scuffed and worn with tick marks. She grinned.

Timor's face softened. Jackson's mood had been improved and his ego boosted a couple hundred points now. Though the ego part may have been necessary for his mood to go up, Timor wasn't sure if that would endear Jackson to Magnus much anymore.

Then, Amelie turned to look at Hitsugaya and him. "Oh! Kannon!" she said amiably, bouncing over, her energy boundless. "I didn't see you there!" she laughed. "How was the training show for you?"

'Kannon' nodded surely. "It was good. The skills exhibited were very unique in their own manner. I see you have developed your own fighting style."

Amelie blinked in confusion.

"Your fighting style enables flexibility and agility, which are your fortes, I assume. It limits firm footing because of the fickle movements. Nonetheless, the unusual defense that is a combination of different footing styles and wrist twists makes up for it," Kannon elaborated firmly.

By then the whole room was staring at him.

Amelie was the first to break the quiet. "Ah! You're the first one to mention it!"

"Mention what?" a voice entered.

* * *

"Magnus!" Amelie spun around. "You just missed the training session. I'm not doing anymore for today, the real training starts later," she chuckled, fingering the curved silver hilt of her rapier.

Magnus noticed the dust-speck lingering in the crowd. He met the frozen depths and managed to hold the gaze. However, this time, it was he who retreated first, but only because he was talking to Amelie.

"Mention what?" he repeated.

"My fighting style!" she said, surprised. "No one ever tells me their opinions on how I attack! It's based on flexibility and mobility, though, so it's effective with those who use larger swords and those who are taller than I am," she stated offhandedly. "Which is many, I'm not that tall, heh."

She continued, "But, for shorter people I've got to use firmer footing because they are more likely to have a softer footing level. They usually choose to use flexibility rather than raw power on their part. But there are times when the shorter uses more power than flexibility, which still places me at a disadvantage, because my footing is weak to upper displacements, seeing as I'm always on my toes. But part of my defense system is used by people with firm footing, and I use my waist muscles as defense to keep myself rooted."

Magnus arched an eyebrow at the dust-speck. "Really, now?" he said. "I'd think that the offensive works better because of your height, which you could use to bear them down into the ground. Plus, your softer footing could outwit the shorter, who may be used to having a smaller opponent use the moves and therefore unable to defend."

Take that, dust-speck, Magnus thought triumphantly.

Responding to the verbal challenge, Kannon said, "Yes, that is true. However, the smaller opponent is likely to have better upwards defense than lower defense, because most are bearing down from the top. Therefore, the footing of the smaller person will be more stable in offensive attacks because they use their back muscles like those with firmer footing. But, General Reginald's defense, which is a mix between footing styles, plus her wrist style, which is looser and more relaxed, allows her to put that to offense in that situation. She'd then use her waist muscles, developed from acrobatics, to uproot the smaller's defense from under."

Amelie looked pleased. "That's right. Kannon's right! Magnus, the defensive system is more compensational than the offensive. Learn from that," she said, pointing at the prodigy.

Magnus would have come up with an incredibly biting and slanderous remark right then and there had Osgood not murmured, "Temper, Norrington. That has always been your downfall."

He calmed down, and tried to continue conversation with Amelie, but the dratted woman had already gone off with Kannon and Timor. Jackson was being congratulated for a promotion, and storming to the center of the room, he snapped, "Right, you, Eodur, come up and duel with me."

Eodur could only obey, face flushed blotchily, this time only from fright.

Osgood sighed, and proceeded to watch.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

More Thirrin angst. Heh. I don't think this was up to my usual caliber, but I wanted to introduce some of the other generals.

**SIGURDSON IS A REAL CHARACTER.** HE'S IN THE SECOND BOOK, AS A DIFFERENT ROLE, BUT I WANTED TO COVER HIM BEFORE HE CAME INTO THAT ROLE. **CARNWULF IS ALSO A REAL CHARACTER.** HE'S MENTIONED A FEW TIMES IN THE SECOND BOOK AS A REFERENCE CHARACTER. I WANTED TO EXPLAIN A FEW MORE THINGS ABOUT HIM AS WELL. **BARBARA ZANZINETTI IS A CHARACTER IN THE SECOND BOOK WHO'S NAME I CHANGED.** I WANTED AN ARIFICAN- YES, ARIFICAN- CHARACTER IN FROSTMARRIS BECAUSE I LIKED THEIR CULTURE.

Those are capitalized because I wanted people to notice them a lot. I don't want everyone thinking that all of the characters are OC's. At least I found more canons, eh?

I have decided that I'm going to research the vampires and werewolf names later. Anyone care to contribute some other than the Chief/King of the werewolves and the Majesties of the Vampires? They're going to appear later. I want them too. I don't want too many human OC's, haha.

Oh, and I switched between 'Kannon' and Hitsugaya because to Amelie, he's 'Kannon,' and to himself he's Hitsugaya and to Timor he is too. To Hyourinmaru he's Toushirou. Sorry if that was confusing.

By the way, the parts about the defenses were nearly all made up. I only speak from watching movies over and over again to pinpoint some facts.

Um, reviews please? Thank you so much for the reviews in the other chapter, by the way. I didn't think so many would review ^^ I love you all! Thank you so much again!


	11. Kono Sonzai, Kono Inochi

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

An early update!! I'm also going to reply to anonymous reviewers after my note, so if you were an anonymous reviewer, look out for your name!

The title is Japanese for "This Existence, This Life." now, I'm going to put the title of the song that I was listening to while writing in front of every chapter title just for the sake of it XD I like sharing my music tastes with people. From 3 pm when I get home from school to 11:30 pm when I sleep I have my headphones on. It's a wonder I'm not deaf.

To clarify the part about the Valkyries coming to take Redrought away in the first book- actually, that's what inspired me to write this fic (other than walking into a door)! I was like... SOUL SOCIETY!!! And a light bulb popped up and I started writing. You know how I stuffed in that souls in the world of the Icemark just kind of find their way to Soul Society? Yea, I thought that he saw the "women" while halfway between the worlds, thus the "path of rainbow light" came in. The "women" were basically some really good-looking Rukongai people/shinigami that were "manipulated" by the spirits of the Icemark to say you **nalagaOcean777** for reminding me to put this in!

To **Anonymous**: About Hitsugaya fighting anyone from the Icemark, yes, there will be a fight like that during the training sessions, but during the real fighting, I'm still deciding ^^ Thank you for reviewing, by the way XD It really warms me up to know that people that are so nice in their reviews are taking the time to encourage the story. Thank you so much!!!

To (the other two) **Anonymous**: Yes, Kannon means God(dess) of Mercy. It's androgynous. I wanted something that didn't sound too distinctly Japanese because the origin of Kannon was Chinese XD Um, I watched the Pirates of the Caribbean, the first and second movies :D Nothing like moving water wheels to discuss footing, and the first movie with the jumping up and down and the seesaw maneuver… whew. Did you know that the seesaw maneuver was ad-lib, meaning that they made it up on the spot? At least, I think so. XD If you've never watched the Pirates of Caribbean, you should. It's an awesome movie.

To (yet the other) **Anonymous**: Thank you for telling me what you'd like as a title XD I'll take those into consideration. Thank you so much for reviewing too :D Now I have 80 reviews!! Ahh, I feel the love~

To **ObsidianEbony**: Yes, now that you mention it, I think Pesante is Italian for "heavily," am I right? ^^

To **Anastasia**: WAH??? THE THIRD BOOK IS OUT IN THE UK????!!! I'm going to search up the details on Wikipedia -_-' I have no life, but I really liked the series. Funny, but my favorite characters are Medea and Oskan. Anyone with me? Thank you for reviewing too, by the way.

To **Reaper**: Zanzinetti is a nice character. She's deep and I'm going to have a lot of fun making up her personality. Thank you for reviewing!!

To **shiro-kuro**: Sorry for the late reply! Thank you for reviewing XD Yes, Ichimaru is up to no good. He's a great character to tote around though. I really like him a lot. He's close to first place with Hitsugaya on my characters list. Thank you for the compliments *sobs* I enjoy reading your reviews a lot, they make me so happy. You boost my ego up so much!! And about the shinigami coming down… heheheh. Though you are an awesome reviewer and it makes me kind of bad to say this, I'm keeping that a secret for now, but you can guess that the others must appear in the Icemark at some time, though when, I don't know. :D

*goes teary* Thank you so much everyone who reviewed, like **Tamashi Aisuto** (who I haven't mentioned yet) and **Mei** (who reviewed twice, once for ch. 10 and ch. 6!), as well as **ChickenShrimp** and **the landlord** for favoriting and story-alerting! I love you all! You're so nice to me *sniff*

* * *

Declaimer: I do not own Bleach nor The Cry of the Icemark, but I do own this storyline. I also don't own the music I mention in the chapters, and in this case, all the singers are as mentioned and the songs credited by "by."

_Hakanaku mo Towa no Kanashi by UVERworld_

**-Kono Sonzai, Kono Inochi-**

The ocean was still.

The spacious dimensional room, filled by shinigami and Arrancar, was still. The walls were lightless, and dull, like they were nonexistent.

Ichimaru Gin's hand glowed a ghastly green, veined and ribbed. His face was still smiling carelessly, but it had become rather forced. The bulbous and twisted Hollow in front of them screamed as its mask was reformed underneath a fragment of a crystal, the brown hair of the person appearing as the flowing white shattered and flowed back together. The black body shrunk and mutilated as it tried in vain to tear the white ribbons restraining it and chaining it to the ground.

The leader of the shinigami defaulters let his reiatsu subside as he noticed an especially large change in the Hollow.

The Hollow collapsed to the floor, an Adjuchas now. It rose up, panting under the now loose and innocent-looking strings of cloth, and collapsed as its legs failed it. An electric blue eye was visible through the heavily built mask.

Ichimaru's arm wavered almost undetectably as shinigami tentatively started to move and one murmured, "Ichimaru-sama, you should rest."

The Arrancar watched expectantly for any weakness in their leader.

One wrong move, and Ichimaru knew he'd be dead. Some still challenged his authority, after all.

Those who worked with illusions were not to be defied, unless you wanted your head stabbed on a spike within the next few minutes because you didn't know the person you were talking to was actually standing behind you, holding a knife to your throat.

_He had no such protection._

Ichimaru didn't want to take the chance. Although his life was made up of chances anyway.

Shinso was at his side, however, and with Shinso he was unconquerable.

But with Shinso, he was still fallible.

"Ichimaru-sama, please, you are tired, and we cannot have you with your reiatsu diminished as it is-"

_Unconquerable and fallible are two very different things._

The albino grinned at his troops, silvery bangs falling into his eyes and his face. "Whaddya talkin' 'bout? I've still got enough reiyuku for tha next round o' transformation."

"But, Ichimaru-sama-!!"

The Hollow lying pathetically in the middle of the room, now an Adjuchas, resumed its pitiful writhing and shrieks as Ichimaru's hand glowed again. The shinigami retreated farther back apprehensively.

Ichimaru watched mercilessly as the soul's mask was shattered, but did not reform, a young face now shown.

It was still an Adjuchas, however, as most bone was still along the side of the body.

Ichimaru's reiyuku grew stronger, lulling the Hollow into changing, destroying the body of an Adjuchas and watching in fascination as it grew and molded like methane into a human-like body.

He was so powerful now, more so than Aizen. Of that he was sure.

He drew power from the crystal shard.

Unlike Aizen.

And absorbed power.

Again, unlike Aizen.

A new Vasto Lorde stood up, strong, and unfailing underneath the ribbons, which fell to the floor in wisps. A pair of shining, neon blue eyes glowed in the darkness, ready to serve his new Master and obey.

Several shinigami hurried to retrieve some customary clothing, and the Arrancars in the sidelines nodded in approval as they saw the new Vasto Lorde's left arm. It was covered in bone, like a gauntlet with jagged and sharp joints like knives.

Ichimaru's grin widened, and slipped the fragment into his pocket. "Yah new name."

It was an order.

The voice was mellow and a low baritone.

"…Legoretta Zaera, sir."

"Hmm." Ichimaru's face took on a more feral note. "I'm Ichimaru Gin."

"Ichi…maru…Gin," Legoretta Zaera tried out his voice.

"Good. Saa, who d'ya serve, Legoretta?"

"Ichimaru Gin," the Vasto Lorde intoned gravely, eyes flashing.

"Good." With a sweep of his arm, the debonair leader of the traitors called softly, "Welcome to ya new ranks, Legoretta Zaera."

And the room was no longer still.

He beckoned to another Arrancar who had lingered in the sidelines.

"Saa-te, I've got a mission for yah. We have another member ta add ta our ranks. 'N Legoretta, yah can come 'long with him if yah want."

The ocean rippled, the mirror-like image disturbed.

* * *

In Maggiore Totus' room, Thirrin sat in a comfortable white chair with cushions layering the backrest and the seat. Maps and training schedules and rough sketches of battle formations were strewn across a tea table that had been turned into a desk for the young Queen.

It was sunset now. February first was coming soon, in around 48 more hours. In 48 more hours, everything would begin. Battle preparations, stoking up the new recruits with knowledge that many of them would not be standing in Frostmarris for the next eternity, everything would start, and Thirrin would be damned if she was not on top of all the happenings.

Maggiore poured warm, steaming tea into a porcelain cup and set it on a placemat situated where her elbow wouldn't accidentally spill it onto one of her precious documents.

"How is the planning coming along, Thirrin?"

"Horribly," came the pessimistic reply. "When the fighting restarts in March, we can't afford to have any hindrances, and that is going to be difficult. And in March, the slopes will be uneven still, and the Corsairs and Zephyrs are going to thrive on uneven land. They live on water, for Odin's sake! We're going to need footing training, dodging training, and training to teach them not to trip over themselves and break a bone."

The old tutor chuckled. "Now, now. Why don't you have some tea instead? I have heard that tea is exactly the thing needed for situations like these."

Heaving a sigh, Thirrin set her thick packet of papers on the table and picked up the cup of tea. Taking a sip, she sighed, "Yeah, right."

"Why don't you take a rest, Thirrin? It is well-earned."

"No."

"Why not?"

She waved her arm dismissively at the window, displaying plains of snow extending towards the horizon. "I told you already, we need to prepare."

Maggiore looked out at the frozen scene before them pensively. "There is still time left, however, and I say that you should rest."

"We only have around a month left. February is a few days short."

The esteemed scholar graciously poured some more tea into the now-empty porcelain, and handed it to Thirrin, who, despite her arguments, took it without complaint.

"Then why don't you ask Oskan to help you, Thirrin?"

"The Witch's Son has a lot to learn, more than I do. Wenlock Witchmother is coming close to passing into the Summer Lands, Maggie. And when that happens, the Witch's Son must take up the role of Witchfather. And all these lands," she grunted as she stood up, "All these lands are going to be united under his command of the ethereal. I've been trained for this moment since I've been born. The Son of White Annis has not."

Before Maggiore Totus could utter a single word, she passed by him. "Organize those for me," the teenage girl commanded, pointing at the stack of messed up papers. "I will be going," she finished, equally demanding as her previous statement.

"Yes, yes, Thirrin," the scholar acquiesced patiently.

As Thirrin left the room, he called after her retreating figure, "So he's back to "Witch's Son, isn't he? Oskan."

She said no words, and as she turned the corner he did not see her white knuckles strained against her reddening skin.

The door swung shut behind her quietly, and the creaking of the hinges sounded like a mournful lament.

* * *

_"…And you shove the earth energy into their body like… like this," grunts Wenlock Witchmother, her hands glowing green as she pours energy from the surroundings into a wounded farmer's arm. The creases in the farmer's unconscious face smoothes out carefully as the arm, shattered in four places from a roof fall into a set of pitchforks, is repaired, and Oskan watches intently._

_"I see."_

_"Y…yes," gasps the Witchmother as the energy overflows from her hands a bit. "You've also got to be careful, Oskan, about the energy getting out of hand."_

_"Will it be like when the lightning hit me?" he asks quietly and solemnly. He is in no mood for beating around the bush, for he is tired and wants rest._

_The elderly woman shoots him an astonished look. He laughs quietly. "Ah, I'm well over that now, Witchmother. Watch out, the energy isn't stable enough," he points out cautiously._

_"Aa, thank you, Oskan."_

_She returns her attention to the arm, and as cautiously as he had warned her, replies, "…And yes, Oskan, it will be like when you were hit by the lightning. The Sight will not show me more than the Goddess allows, but I will say that if you are hit by destruction that great again…"_

_Oskan finishes for her, far more meek than usual. "I will die, and the Goddess will not grant restoration from the earth, nor the sky, or the water."_

_The farmer's arm is now perfect, and the Witchmother removes her hands from the limb, nearly collapsing from aftershock. Oskan's quick reflexes catch the wizened body, and he lowers her carefully back to the ground. "Slowly, slowly there!" he manages to breathe out, the air shaken from his lungs as he takes the force of her momentum. (AN: HAHA… physics.) "You're not as young as you used to be."_

_Wenlock sends the warlock a grateful smile. "Thank you, Oskan."_

_"No problem," he responds, equally courteous._

_"However, Oskan…" her voice trails off, and she bends over onto the ground in a coughing fit. He places his hands on her bony back and sends fragile silver tendrils of water energy into her body, soothing her exhausted lungs._

_"Yes, Witchmother?" Oskan has time._

_She looks at him, and is deathly serious. So much so he wonders what she was going to say, though inside he is secretly anticipating it._

_And dreading it with all of his every fiber, every blood vessel, every movement._

_"Oskan, I have not much time to live. The Goddess is calling. I am fading."_

_He is alarmed. "Witchmother, isn't that saying a bit too much-" he begins almost desperately._

_She stops him with her hand sharply, and inside her weary eyes he sees remorse. "I am fading," she repeats, almost amused in a dark way with the finality. "When I pass, you are immediately christened Witchfather, Oskan, Son of White Annis. You are to take up the position as leader. I have not much time left. I highly doubt I will see the second battle that will take place, not to mention the first. I plan to go wherever you may go, Oskan, so I may oversee your training. However, there is barely any time left. I foresee many journeys ahead in the next month, and many paths that you will take."_

_Oskan gapes, disbelieving. "Witchmother," he implores, "Give the position to another. I want nothing to do with this. I want to return to the woods, before I met her. Before anything. Before, when I could interpret the mixings of the world in peace, before anything."_

_She regards him with something akin to pity. "The position of leader of the witches and warlocks is difficult, White Annis's Son. It is more of a burden than an honor, as are all high positions. Don't you think that the Queen herself is having troubles as well?"_

_"I don't want this," he says miserably, but now knows he has no say in the matter._

_"I did not want this either. You are so young," she continues wistfully, "Decades younger, so many decades younger than I was when the previous Witchmother passed away. And the Goddess is always loving of her sons, but harsher to them as well."_

_She stands up, and leans heavily on her cane. Oskan's gaze is trembling._

_"Take care, Witch's Son. The world is changing. The seasons are turning. There not much time left, for anything. Believe in your strength. There is nothing else we can do."_

_And she walks away, and Oskan is left staring at his hands, and feeling a certain tugging to a certain Darkness, and a certain pulling of a certain Light. He buries his face in his hands, and the farmer, lying on his cot, is still unmoving._

_"Why me???!!" he shouts, and the farmer manages to rest through it all. "Why ME??!!!!" he cries, and raw energy flows into the room, and he breaks a glass mirror on the wall, knuckles scraped raw and cut badly._

_"Why… me…?"_

_And the mirror, carefully, quietly, is reconstructed atom by atom, bit by bit, cell by cell, until it is even more perfect than before._

_Oskan exits the scene, and his hands are battered and wounded._

_He does not heal them._

_The pain is nothing compared to the wrenching he has inside._

* * *

All the while,

the Dark calls and cackles.

_"Why you, boy? Why you, you poor, poor thing," _the Darkness calls soothingly._ "We can make it all better. There will be no more pain, no more suffering. You can be selfish. You can want things, and you will get them. There will be wholesomeness. You will not be empty. You poor, poor thing…"_

Yet,

the Light pursues,

though he has chosen the path it wants him to for now.

_"Why you, life is meant to have pain and suffering," _the Light sings._ "It is another flavor. There are people out there that need you, little one. The Queen needs you, little one, and you need her. You are still growing. There are years ahead for you. You will remain, a guidepost for the future. Don't despair. Do not deny your calling. The Goddess loves her children..."_

However,

the Darkness,

the oblivion,

looks so tempting.

_"What Goddess?" _it cackles menacingly, and yet the sound echoes beautifully in his mind._ "What Goddess? There is nothing but this 'Soul Society' and no Goddess. She might as well be another shinigami dictator for all we know. Destroy the shinigami for pressing this fate on you. Destroy that white-haired boy for changing your world. Destroy, destroy, destroy…"_

The Light is pure,

and purity is raw force and undiluted,

unadulterated truth.

_"The Goddess is the Queen of the Society," _it pleads._ "It is the Queen, the One. Do not stray from the Path! Love, cherish, share, Son of the White Annis. The shinigami can be kind. They can be evil. There are many things in the world. Love the world. Cherish the time you spend with the Queen and the white-haired boy, for it is precious and a memory to keep. Share your powers, and prosper. Love, cherish, share…"_

He bellows into the halves of his mind.

_"Leave me alone!!! I am LIGHT, I AM THE LIGHT, DON'T TEMPT ME!!! Don't… DON'T TEMPT… don't tempt me… DON'T TEMPT ME!!!!!"_

And the Darkness,

the lying Darkness,

seems so much more welcoming than the Light,

which is harsh because it is reality…

_"H-h-huuAAAHHHHHHh!!!!"_

Oskan screams.

* * *

Having retired early for the day, Oskan lay in his bed, the day's events replaying and replaying.

His pillow was wet.

Oskan slowly sat up in bed. Nearly nighttime of the 29th of January.

Three more days until it all begins. Three more days until the first of February.

Three more days, until he must face Thirrin again, and the Radiance simply shining off of her is blinding. He cannot see her, must not see her, for fear that his tainted self, the Darkness in him- for fear that while he holds her, her Radiance will die, fade away, crumble into dust in his hands, and all he will have left is a shell-

A shell-

He smothered the image. No, no, never, never a shell, she must not be a shell, she cannot be a shell-

His mind repeated the sentences, over and over again, bit by bit, like an endless mantra sent to the Heavens that he knows do not exist, the Heavens that the Soul Society must dominate-

He wished for help, someone to come and chase the shadows away, someone to be there when he thought he was going to lose it, someone with knowledge of feelings, these feelings that were sweeping over him in a rush, someone with knowledge of the other world, of the Darkness and the Light that were in constant battle-

He wished all his beliefs had not been uprooted in that split second, that there was still something solid that he can hold onto and cling desperately to, a savior-

Thirrin came to his mind.

He nearly suffocated himself in his pillow in his dry exasperation and teary frustration.

"Why Thirrin?" Oskan croaked into the soft material. "Why Thirrin? Why is my life so twisted? Why, why, why, WHY?"

There was a flash of golden light, a sound like silk ripping, two little 'oomphs,' and something answered.

A little voice piped up, "Because you like her, of course, Oskan!"

A disgruntled one chorused, "You love her, you dolt. Geez, why do I ALWAYS get saddled with wishy-washy freaking teary-eyed weird blockheads??! And WHAT THE HELL are we doing HERE?"

Oskan jolted up, and turned around.

"WAAAHH- OUCH!!"

He had launched himself backwards, and hit the backboard. Reddened eyes large, he pointed a shaking finger at the two figures that had materialized. The Witchfather-to-be shouted the only sensible things that came to mind.

"WHAT ARE YOU??!"

A grinning something looked back at him, and smiled. A fairylike creature, she was, with blonde hair, squared bangs, and a topknot. She was wearing a red robe-like outfit with gold embroidery along the edges, and unusually folded wings. She had deep, forest green feet that were forked and pointed like lizard feet.

The thing gave a cheeky little wave. "I'm Shun-ou, part of the Shun Shun Rikka," she chirped, dipping into a bow, smiling brightly. "Pleased to meet you!"

The other had a roughened, windswept look to him, and his lower face was covered by a white kerchief that extended into a white scarf. The hair was spiky and permanently set that way, and his burgundy and black patterned body had taken on a pointed look, as if it was meant for attack.

"Tsubaki," it grunted, making a violent twitching gesture. "And don't call us-"

"What are you, FAIRIES?!" Oskan hollered in his surprise.

He simply received a rough smack to his nose, so hard his head was sent careening back to the headboard.

"Gahh!"

Shun-ou sighed and looked reproachfully at the other. "Tsubaki, don't do that to Oskan! He's having a hard enough time."

Tsubaki stubbornly refused to repent. "He still said it. THE word."

Oskan blinked. "THE word?" he inquired of Shun-ou, because she was the one who looked more accommodating.

She gave him an apologetic vibe. "Fairies. Tsubaki hates it when people classify us as those things. He says it's-"

"-A stupid, sappy name that people classify floating things with wings that look tiny and fragile with FLOWERS as hats like that- that-" Tsubaki snarled.

"Tinkerbell," concluded Shun-ou with an air that she had heard this millions of times before. "You've said that before," she added matter-of-factly.

Tsubaki grumbled moodily.

"Then- what- how?" Oskan asked carefully as to not offend the dark-haired creature any more than he was already.

Shun-ou looked thoughtful. "I don't know, exactly," she began slowly. "We're part of-"

"-The Shun Shun Rikka," Tsubaki uttered gravely, deep eyes flashing like obsidian under the sunlight.

"Shun Shun Rikka?"

"Shun Shun Rikka," clarified Shun-ou. "We are a part of the Shun Shun Rikka, a set of creatures born to help specifically Inoue Orihime-chan. We were made from her reiyuku and reiatsu to help the ones she loved, but what we are doing here, I don't know…"

Amazed, Oskan looked at them both. "Then you are from Hitsugaya's dimension? 'Cause you know what reiatsu and reiyuku is."

Both of them perked up. "Hitsugaya?" said Tsubaki sharply.

"Hitsugaya as in Hitsugaya Toushirou-taicho, leader of Juuban tai in Seireitei of Soul Society?" rattled on Shun-ou, looking unexpectedly eager.

"Yes. You know him?"

Shun-ou was excited. "Know him? He's a hero!"

Tsubaki's interest was piqued, but he interrupted gruffly, "Well, let's get back mainstream. What are we doing here, firstly? Without the other four of us."

"That's right," Shun-ou murmured, one hand on her chin. "Well, I heard Oskan say something, and then I knew that he needed help, and I came…?"

Oskan stared in fascination as Tsubaki nodded slowly. "I heard some wimp"-a glare was sent in the ebony-haired man's direction- "start dreaming about something friggin' creepy and then I kind of got everything going on, and here I am."

Something clicked in the warlock's brain. "Ah! If you were created to help…" He struggled for words.

"Inoue Orihime-chan," Shun-ou encouraged.

"Inoue Orihime-chan," Oskan took up, "Then maybe, because somehow I needed your help, you were sent over the dimensions to sort of…"

"Be your spirit guardians!" cheered Shun-ou gleefully, clapping ecstatically. "I see! I see! Yes, that would be it! Because your reiatsu has not been influenced enough-"

Tsubaki coughed, "-Because Hitsugaya-taicho can actually REIN IN his reiatsu, unlike that kid with a gigantic MEAT CLEAVER-"

Shun-ou glowered, and the other shrugged. "Well, it is a meat cleaver."

"Anyway, because your reiatsu is not influenced enough to create your own spirit guardians," the female Shun Shun Rikka picked up, "Seeing as we are probably the most mobile spirits here, I guess we were sent over to replace whatever would have been created."

"Sent over by what?" Oskan prompted.

"How are we supposed to know, BOKE?" Tsubaki growled. "You're the one who has reiatsu problems. So YOU tell US."

"Boke?" Oskan echoed dumbly. "Me? Tell you? What?"

Tsubaki smacked the warlock who, this time, gritted his teeth and said menacingly, "Listen, Tsubaki or whatever you are, you're in MY territory, so STOP trying to KILL me and let me THINK."

The violent Shun Shun Rikka settled for a malicious glare, and departed from their company.

"What's up with him?" Oskan muttered, rubbing his forehead.

Shun-ou apologized. "Sorry," she said delicately. "He's kind of out of it because he misses Orihime-chan. Though he's really rough and violent, Tsubaki cares. He cares a lot. So, don't be too hard on him. Imagine, one moment we're right next to Orihime-chan, who's sleeping, and then we hear things and our friends get scared, and Orihime-chan's as oblivious as ever, and then we're here…"

Oskan murmured a soft, "Sorry," and watched the other agitated fairy- because what could he call them, in all honesty- sit down on the desk drawer and grumpily run his hands through his hair.

"So," the sole female in the room suggested softly, "Why don't you tell us about your problems?"

Oskan nodded.

"Well…"

And thus a new friendship unfolded.

* * *

Now sitting on Oskan's shoulder, Tsubaki grunted. "So you're saying," he emphasized by jabbing Oskan in the shoulder, "That you're losing it because of these, quote 'quote', Darkness and Light that reside inside you?"

"Yes."

Shun-ou asked, "And you need help chasing it away?"

"Yes."

Shun-ou wrung her long sleeves. "We could use Soten Kisshun and reject the existence," she said.

"Reject the existence??"

"Meaning turn back the time and remove the Darkness," Tsubaki confirmed.

"I…see…"

"But I have to do it with Ayame!" worried Shun-ou. "And Tsubaki's the Koten Zanshun, the violent attack…"

"Koten Zanshun??"

"A technique used to reject the bonds keeping a body together and slice through someone like a sword," the male Shun Shun Rikka confirmed yet again.

"I see. Then, how are you supposed to help me with the Darkness and the Light?" Oskan asked.

Shun-ou pulled at her topknot. "Maybe I can do Soten Kisshun a bit by myself?" she wondered.

Her figure flickered, and a miniature shield appeared on the table across from Oskan's bed, looking like it had been cut in half. The shield glowed soft green, and Oskan could tell that it wasn't supposed to do that from the looks on the Shun Shun Rikka's faces. A slash on the desk healed itself a little bit, but it was still a shallow cut.

She came back, looking horribly distressed. "This isn't working!" she wailed hysterically.

Tsubaki nodded in pensive agreement. "Then, can Oskan control us?"

Oskan was doubtful. "I don't think so. You're Orihime-chan's spirits, aren't you? That means only she should be able to control you. And you can control yourselves when…"

"You should call her Orihime-chan."

"…Orihime-chan isn't there, right?"

"Yes, but then, what are we supposed to do about it anyway?"

"I don't know, Shun-ou, honestly. Maybe you're here to protect me or to ensure hope or something."

Shun-ou blinked.

Tsubaki nodded yet again. "Yeah, maybe. I think we can sorta cross over dimensions, now that you mention it. We can cut through the spirit worlds 'cause we can reject time. So maybe I can cut through the dimension to the Dark so Oskan can confront them, and Shun-ou is there to help sort of reject some injuries, but not all of them…"

"…So Oskan can learn to defend properly," agreed Shun-ou.

Comprehension dawned across Oskan's face. "That might be it!"

"But how are we supposed to stay with the bawling warlock without being seen?" countered Tsubaki. "We can't make hair pin things anymore without the rest."

"Hair pin things??"

"Our formation when all of the six of us come together."

"Ah."

"Mm, Tsubaki, let's try to make something that Oskan can wear, then?"

"Yeah. Guess so."

A flash of another type of golden light, and the warlock stared at the object now lying inconspicuously on his lap.

"Wow…" he murmured in astonishment.

A ring, layered burgundy red and edged with gold, was there. It looked like it had been bent purposely so it took on the appearance of papery minerals molded into one.

Something resonated in his soul as he warily slipped it onto his finger.

He could hear Tsubaki and Shun-ou in his mind.

And Oskan smiled.

"…I just might be able to do this, eh?"

A gruff voice rang out in his conscience.

_"OF COURSE, you great buffoon!!"_

_"Tsubaki!!"_

_"What?! He is a great wimp!! A great, big, bawling, baby-"_

_"TSUBAKI!!"_

Oh yes, he would definitely be able to do this.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

The past few chapters were way longer than I wanted the average for my chapters to be. I guess they were the outliers. I'm going back to the original average amount for my chapters, so sorry for those who like hulking gi-normous chapters XD

So, the Shun Shun Rikka popped up! Well, a few of them… what do you think of that twist? I was looking through Wiki at Orihime's abilities, and I thought that if I stuffed Tsubaki and Shun-ou, whose personalities are far more stable than the others, into Oskan's life to help him out a bit, it would make for more interesting reads.

And no Hitsugaya this chapter, I wanted to spend more time with Oskan. Thirrin had her share last chapter. But there'll be plenty of Hitsugaya in the next! (And thus the violence unfolds.)

I'm also planning ahead for the story because there is going to be a lot of… violence in the future. I like writing fight scenes and making up Arrancar/Shinigami powers *sigh* It's just so relieving of the stress of school.

Thank you for all the reviews for the last chapter! I love you all! XD You are all the best people anyone can ask for. You're all so… so… incredibly wonderful!!!

Now, I'm going to ask for more reviews, if you all don't mind ^^


	12. Much to Be Desired

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Ahh, thank you, all my beloved reviewers, **nalagaOcean777**, **Anonymous**, **Anastasia**, **Tamashi Aisuto**, **Reaper**, **Anonymous**, **Gosai Ryuu**, **ObsidianEbony**. Did I miss anyone? I just kinda recited from memory…

DID YOU KNOW THAT KUBO TITE WRITES ALL THE LYRICS TO THE BLEACH BEAT COLLECTION??

I'm also very very very very sorry, this chapter is definitely not up to my usual. I've been feeling horrible recently, and haven't been getting enough sleep, and my grades aren't doing as well as usual, and my homework is piling up on me that it's a miracle that I actually finished this at all (though I did most of it during Winter Break but was too lazy to post it.) Also, I've written this over a ton of times and it's just not right-feeling, and my computer crashed while I was backing up the files. Plus, something inside of me just kinda snapped before I decided to look it over, so I think it hasn't fleshed out the way I wanted it to.

* * *

Declaimer: I do not own Bleach nor The Cry of the Icemark, but I do own this storyline. I also don't own the music I mention in the chapters, and in this case, all the singers are as mentioned and the songs credited by "by."

_Leave Out All the Rest by Linkin Park_

**-Much to Be Desired-**

As the sun was setting, Hitsugaya stiffened in his room.

Timor, Paterson, and General Reginald had already left earlier to check up on their own business, whatever that was.

Immediately he put a quick shunpo to Hyourinmaru, ripping off the coarse cloth binding it, and dragged on the black cloak.

Managing to slam the balcony door open somewhat quietly and carefully, he looked to see if anyone was watching his room before dashing out onto the reishi particles in the atmosphere, feet pounding on the spirit molecules and extending into a wide-placed shunpo.

Hyourinmaru was clamoring for battle in his ears, pounding, ringing, writhing, wings crackling with a terrifying and deadly power.

Hyourinmaru roared, wanting to be set free, wanting to soar into the frozen heavens.

**Hollow, Hyourinmaru,** consoled Hitsugaya, mentally patting his counterpart, **You will have your chance sooner or later.**

**Do not disappoint me, boy.**

Hitsugaya chuckled.

**I will not.**

* * *

Clad in black Corsair clothes, Legoretta Zaera soared through the evergreens with sonido. His arm severed anything in his way recklessly, face rigid. He was careful to conceal his reiatsu.

Behind him bounced a young woman Arrancar. Around her head, bound in a pale pink ring, was her hair, and protruding out of the ring in the impression of several flowing ribbons were the darker magenta strands. She seemed to be at her element, happily breezing through the forest, not to mention jumping around whenever she could.

Legoretta's electric blue eyes stared nonchalantly at her, and when Fresa Pelayo caught his gaze, she gave him a cheery smile and waved cheekily, mismatched eyes shining.

"Yo!" Fresa laughed, catching up to his superior speed for a moment. Her milky pupil-less eyes, pale mint green in color, seemed to see straight through him.

Legoretta kept his indifferent front up. "What do you want?" he said composedly.

She frowned. "Just wanted to talk! Geez, for a newcomer, you're SO incredibly anti-social. Like, SO much more than the old Espa-duh. At least Starky was nice. Though in the end that sakura-coat-bearded-shinigami-version-of-Starky killed him in the end. I miss him. He was always SUCH a great laugh, seriously. He was SO hilarious."

The male Vasto Lorde turned his features away. "I'm sorry for the loss."

"-But I think that sakura-coat-bearded-shinigami-version-of-Starky died later. Starky is poisonous, poi-suh-nus. Oh yeah!"

She pouted as she saw that Legoretta was facing stubbornly forward and not giving her a care in the world. Then she grinned. "Hey, hey, Ulquiorra-Junior!"

Fresa had his concentration again. "What did you call me?! Ulquiorra-Junior?!" he growled, baring his sharp canines.

The pink-haired girl shook her head again, as if talking to herself, and tapped her chin lightly. Her skeletal right foot in the shape of a bird's talon carelessly whapped against the top of a tree and reduced the top to cinders.

"IknowIknowIknowIknow!" she shrieked abruptly. Legoretta jerked backwards, and his arm took out an entire tree, sending it tumbling onto the glen floor.

Jabbing a well-manicured finger into his chest, she crooned, "You'll be Ulquiorra's-personality-almost-reborn-with-Grimmjow's-creepy-smile-and-the-pretty-hair! Oh yea, baby, I am SO incredibly awh-some."

Legoretta seriously contemplated taking out his zanpakutou and skewering her.

"Aw, c'mon, Ulquiorra's-personality-almost-reborn-with-Grimmjow's-creepy-smile-and-the-pretty-hair, don't kill me! You wouldn't kill such a pretty little girl like me, pssh, no!"

He knew he would enjoy it, though, he would. Killing this psychotic chick would do the entire world a bit of good.

"Ahh," Fresa whined softly, grabbing his right arm- Legoretta grimly wished that she grabbed his left arm, which would have killed her because he'd jab upwards with his elbow and swiftly impale her- "You can't kill me anyway, Ulquiorra's-personality-almost-reborn-with-Grimmjow's-creepy-smile-and-the-pretty-hair, because Ichimaru-sama would be mad."

He destroyed another tree in his frustration, but his face was still as smooth as it was before.

"I know," was all he deigned fit to speak.

"Geez, Ulquiorra's-personality-almost-reborn-with-Grimmjow's-creepy-smile-and-the-pretty-hair, you are SO not fun. Like, even Barragon was fun while he lasted. SO fun to tease, and he wouldn't kill me 'cause I'm Ichimaru-sama's favorite," she giggled softly.

Fresa sent him a reproachful puppy-eyes vibe when he didn't respond. "Like, you are SO boring, you won't even respond to me. SO uh-noying."

Legoretta wondered whether he could say that that captain in the Icemark caught up with them and killed the hyper Vasto Lorde accidentally. He was interrupted from his train of thoughts by Fresa, not that it surprised him.

"Huaah! Lookie lookie! There's that Hollow we're supposed to be taking, it's SO ugly, look at that mask!! And those octopus arms things- I wonder what it'll look like once-"

Legoretta's right hand came and silenced her. There was another person fighting the Hollow.

"Quiet. Shinigami," he explained.

There was a slow change in her demeanor, but it was unnerving all the same.

He felt her smile maniacally under his hand. Killing intent was starting to waft from her every pore, her reiatsu flickering in and out of sense.

His blood ran cold, and it felt like frozen methane in his body.

_"Ah, 'nd Legoretta?" His Master beckoned with a long thin finger, ginning perpetually._

_"Yes, Ichimaru-sama?" he queried politely, dividing all his attention to the tall man who stood before him._

_"Most of the older Arrancar here're Aizen's models, gotcha? Like, Aizen made 'em with his crazy reiatsu, yah?" Upon noticing the hawk-eyed man nod sternly, he continued, "Yah, since they're Aizen's, their mentality's… how d'ya put it…?"_

_The new addition to the ranks waited patiently as Ichimaru-sama tapped his chin with a mocking sort of thoughtfulness._

_"They ain't as stable without Aizen. So if one starts lookin' funny then you either get outta their way fast-like or risk getting' yah lil' head bitten off on accident. They've been modified so many times without the same reiatsu that they ain't gonna listen to reason."_

_"Yes, sir." Legoretta sank into a deep waist-high bow respectfully, remaining in that position long after Ichimaru departed, watching the tall debonair figure through lidded eyes._

Though he was new to this sort of world, he could tell when an Arrancar started to lose it mentally.

"Fresa." The brown-haired man attempted to catch her attention.

"Fresa. We are here for the Hollow only."

She didn't hear him.

Her normally pupil-less right eyes had grown a pupil, the left still blind. It was in a shape of a star, and it seemed as if thousands of other shining, sleepy eyes were glowing and looking out from hers.

He stopped a shudder running up his spine.

'_"…They've been modified so many times without the same reiatsu that they ain't gonna listen to reason…"'_

Ichimaru's lilting, addicting voice flashed through his brain.

Fresa Pelayo licked her lips.

--_Thousands of eyes, little eyes, golden eyes--_

* * *

As a long, slimy tentacle came slithering at the white-haired taicho with inhuman speed, Hitsugaya dodged and bounded upwards smoothly, all his senses keen.

"Heheheh- SHINIGAMI MUST BE GOOD TO EAT!!! Heheheh, heheheh!!" Rows of white, perfectly aligned teeth were revealed as the mouth opened, flecks of spittle flung into the air in the Hollow's madness.

**This is why I hate new Hollows.**

He shunpo'd behind the Hollow's head and slashed at the white mask, missing as its seventeenth arm protruded from the back and tried to dice him up nicely. Instead, Hitsugaya hacked away half of the chunky white mask and returned for another strike.

A shrewd eye that was widened in terror and longing was revealed, and Hitsugaya gritted his teeth together. Pity threatened to overwhelm him. No one deserved to feel that type of pain.

The burden was the shinigamis' to carry.

Hitsugaya's hands tightened around Hyourinmaru as he sliced at the creature, cutting through part of its ribcage but not destroying it. Expecting the Hollow to come after him, blinded by pain and roaring, he raised his zanpakutou in defense position.

He didn't need to.

The Hollow momentarily stopped squealing for shinigami flesh, starting to tremble, its bulky weight shaking. The many limbs thrashed around helplessly, breaking branches and tearing up the ground. It opened and closed its mouth as if gasping for air, which it was, the black-skinned chest heaving and heaving for air.

**This behavior is not natural.**

To Hitsugaya's surprise, it choked in a strangled but very human tone, "Sorry, can't hold off- damn-"

"Wha-" the shinigami began.

The Hollow broke from its unusual quivering.

"Heeheehee- Food! Must- EATS- So- EMPTY!!!" the Hollow shrieked, twenty-one jelly-like arms waving around in a messy fashion. Dark blood splattered on the ground as the snowy-haired taicho charged and removed four of the arms in one hit.

The tortured spirit refrained from attacking again. That familiar quaking was back, and the thing repeated, bellowing, "Sorry, can't- HOLD- OFF!!! Kill me, please- PLEASE HURRY- I DIED- IT'S-"

An inhuman roar blotched out what the soul had to say, and the Hollow charged forth once again, frothing at the mouth like a rabid animal, drooling disgustingly.

Hitsugaya saw that the original soul had a fringe for a hairstyle as he passed by the Hollow's mask-removed part, and tried to sneak in another slash, only to be averted as all remaining appendages came at him violently.

He slid backwards on his sandals smoothly, rolled underneath the Hollow, who was slow to react, and jabbed upwards in one fluid movement.

"Sorry. I couldn't hear you out."

The Hollow's body was cleanly sliced in two, the mask parted in half, mouth still open.

As the mutilated corpse dissipated into the air, a silver zanpakutou, now void of any blood, found its way back into the forest green sheath.

Hitsugaya adjusted his hood, calm and emotions unmovable once again. It was a good thing that the Hollow was a bit away from the village. He didn't want people talking about his newest defeat in front of him.

Obviously, he didn't want to have to make it seem like he was being haughty by not praising the 'mysterious black figure,' but if he praised the 'mysterious black figure' then the few that knew it was him would still think of him as overconfident and pompous.

How troublesome.

He got ready to head back when he sensed another reiatsu behind him, and spun around to defend.

**What the- Hyourinmaru, Arrancar?!!**

A pink-haired woman gripped his sword without getting cut and swung him into a tall majestic tree, its branches splayed across the sky like several fingers reaching for the top of the world.

"Huaah!" gasped Hitsugaya as he righted himself upon impact, his hood falling off. His breath caught in his throat again as the Arrancar woman literally threw herself across the clearing, and he ducked as her hand blasted a hole through the pine, exactly where his head would have been.

He grabbed Hyourinmaru and barely had time to meet the cutting edge taken out of its bloodred sheath, the abstract hilt made up of several different metals forming one design. Hitsugaya's lungs screamed for air as all the breath was knocked out of him, and limply, he was thrown to the side, rolling on the ground, his left hand scabbing against the rocky forest floor for a stop hold.

He grunted as he came to a halt against a lichen-encrusted boulder and shunpo'd onto the reishi particles in the air, dragging his hood up in the process. The woven sandals felt hot as he skidded to a halt and created rippling waves of disturbance through the sky, dust blowing backwards dramatically. His cloak whipped up around him, but his hood was firmly held down by a hand. The number ten in kanji was revealed.

Cackling madly, the sadistic female spun up predatorily, sunken in a half-crouch. Her mint eye caught his rank just as it became veiled again.

His eyes narrowed. "Hitsugaya Toushirou, Juuban tai taicho."

The pink-haired Vasto Lorde stood up and stretched, magenta hair strands floating in the air eerily, blackish mirth still tainting her tones. "You're Hitsugaya Toushirou? The 'lil' chibi-san' that Ichimaru-sama kept on talking about? SO pleasing to meet you. You're SO much cuter than I imagined. I'm Fresa Pelayo."

Hitsugaya twitched.

**CUTE…?? How dare she…!!**

Fresa licked her lips again, hot breath steaming in the cool air. "But what-evah. Let's just beat you to a little pulpy thing… your eyes are so defiant…" she giggled softly.

--_Thousands of eyes, little eyes, golden eyes--_

Teal optics showed shock under the black hood.

**Hyourinmaru, that singing-!!**

--_Singing, dancing, weaving, casting memories along the silver path--_

"Now," she said. "Let's go, mmkay?"

--_Stars light the silver path, the accursed path, the path that we follow--_

She smiled, her eyes glimmering as her pale yellow reiatsu curled around her in soft mesmerizing swirls, pulling at her tresses and whipping around her baggy pants. The more energy she exerted, the more intense the singing came, until it shrilled in his ears deafeningly, so much that he couldn't concentrate, could barely keep his hold on Hyourinmaru…

--_Stars are ripped from the sky, empty sockets, broken feathers, lost dreams--_

"Shit." Hitsugaya's hoarse voice cut through the voices echoing in their surroundings.

--_The moon is torn by the fangs of a white wolf, blood is spilling, Death is calling--_

She lunged at him speedily, but her eyes were light and gentle.

_--Death is calling, it is calling, singing, dancing, weaving--_

"Shit!!"

* * *

The Witchfather-to-be massaged his temples and leaned against a frozen wall.

Wrapping his furs around him tighter, the young warlock watched his breath mist in the air in lazy spirals. "Wonder what Hitsugaya's up to, at any rate," he said to himself as no one was currently in the hall. Sighing, a hand was all that was needed to push himself off the wall. His eyes fell on the ornate ring adorning his finger.

"Better get to the kitchens, I'm starving-"

Foot slipping on a patch of icy water, Oskan grabbed onto an unlit wall bracket for support. The one arm that wasn't hanging on the bracket waved and bashed into the wall, knocking a few stones into it. Oskan barely had any time to acknowledge the unusual formation in the barrier. Mouth wide open in a silent yell, the warlock's foot skidded on the ice and banged into a brick down near his foot.

There was a loud rumbling and crashing, and Oskan stared at the chain reaction he had triggered. (AN: Someone's lucky~~)

His jaw dropped open with an audible click, and as he peered self-consciously into the secret chamber that had just opened, he forced his mouth closed. Oskan's nose wrinkled at the smell and he knew he would definitely have to skip a meal for another few days.

He sincerely doubted he could stomach anything, anyway. If anyone force-fed him anything he'd just vomit it all up. Besides, he could do with a fast for a bit. He'd been in constant battle with the weight-measure for the past few months.

Some thinning down wouldn't hurt, my stomach's all blubber, anyway, he told himself decisively as he put a toe forward beyond the light of outside.

He seized a torch from its stand on the wall and, for a better measure, tugged on the bracket just to make sure it wasn't rigged as well.

Shun-ou hummed encouragingly in his mind, and Tsubaki simply did what Tsubaki did best.

He pointed out potential weaknesses in Oskan's way of looking out.

_"Stupid! You can't walk with your back to the gateway! OY! Watch out with that step there! What if it set off a trap, huh? This castle thing's freaking old! Don't close that gateway thing! Look, it's closing!! Stick a piece of something in between the stone- yes, that's it. LOOK IN FRONT OF YOU AND SIDLE ALONG THE HALL!! What if you-"_

As usual, it was Shun-ou who shut Tsubaki up.

Oskan walked forwards, grimacing at the rats and the stink that accompanied them. Faded inscriptions told a story, truth or false- he couldn't tell- and Oskan watched the fire glance off the hollowed eyes, imprints of bloodstained swords, and beautiful women on a rainbow bridge of light. There was one man in a white cloak, and smiling warmly and with a father-like sort of expression.

It was the last image that caught him the most. The women and the man were wearing black uniforms, carried swords, and holding hands out to a fallen warrior who looked detached from his material body. The soldier was garbed in a similar fashion as the people. The ebony-haired youth gave a wry grin.

Shinigami did have a history with the Icemark after all, some thousand years ago.

He leaned closer to the wall, hand held out. He frowned as mottled images of the previous pictures appearing to be drawn out of the warrior's mind flowed into a crystal-like object.

The man was holding the crystal-like object, and his wire-rimmed glasses seemed to glint in the light. Oskan's finger traveled over the glasses, and was astonished to feel a metal. He sought to pry the metal out, but to no avail. It was stuck too firmly into the rock.

The Witchfather-to-be reminded himself to bring Hitsugaya here to take a look.

Stepping further into the dimly lit tunnel, the ebony-haired advisor also took note about the torches in the passageway that were lighted. Someone had to come in here, and daily.

The stench, if possible, worsened as Oskan walked on. He began to breathe through his mouth, but the taste of the air somehow lingered in his senses and made nausea roil through his stomach and throat.

His boot crunched on something slick and smooth, like metal. He looked down.

He gasped and stumbled backwards, eyes wide and disbelieving as he regarded the sword that he'd stepped on. A lion insignia decorated the hilt, the mane of the lion flowing into a griffin, whose wings extended into a phoenix.

It was Peter Rabbitt's.

Oskan's mind raced. How did Peter find this place? Why was his precious weapon even lying here, in a disgustingly dirty and rodent-infested place? What happened?

Tentatively tripping forwards in excitement, the torch lit up the area beyond the sword. The orange flames danced over a bony hand, the skin already rotten off and a bit of flesh still clinging desperately to it, molded and green-purple.

He gulped, and scrabbling for an area to leave the torch, he found a rusted holder that was empty. Dropping the burning stick in, it took a few seconds for the image to sink into his mind.

Oskan proceeded to vomit nothing but saliva in a corner, seeing as he hadn't eaten in a while.

He had no doubt that Peter Rabbitt's rotting body lay before him, eyes hanging out of their sockets, ribs showing, and maggots writhing over his chest in a twisted heap.

No doubt at all, not when the body was wearing the insignia of a 'Frostmarris General Commended for Action and Deeds, Peter Rabbitt' on his breast-pocket.

Without even bothering to pick up his light, Oskan fled, one hand covering his mouth, the other he used to make sure he had balance.

When he made it out of the passageway, he marked the spot by sloshing mud over the area, and ran towards Thirrin's room, his stomach cramping and eyes smarting.

Whether they were smarting from dryness or tears, he'd never know.

* * *

_--My heart dies an untimely death, floating and flitting away on blood-soaked wings--_

Hitsugaya choked as Fresa, visuals feathery-sweet, slashed downwards at his exposed side, tearing a part of his cloak.

The woman swiftly sonido'd behind him, a flicker in his vision, and aimed for his head. He shunpo'd farther away and cried, "Hado no Go-Ju-Shi, Haien!!" The Arrancar girl nimbly jumped past, but one of her hair tresses came by singed.

_--I look up with shining eyes at the starless heavens, glowing in the dark--_

She attacked slowly but unpredictably. "Heheheh!!" He bent under her sword, regaining his mobility, and watched the metal come close to his head. The zanpakutou performed a perfect 3-60 and she whirled it above her head, bearing down on him again as he came up straight again.

_--Pain lances through my body, but I pay it no mind, and walk on with torn feet--_

Somersaulting forwards, Hitsugaya swiped at her with Hyourinmaru, and cut her straight through the leg. He could see the metal on the other side of her thigh, and drew the blade out of her flesh as quickly as he could, trying to shut out the haunting melody.

_--Mine, it's all mine, Master calls to us, we come, in numbers, crying, begging--_

Fresa didn't even flinch, just kept smiling. Looking at the stainless silver of his zanpakutou, there was not a sign of a bloodred liquid on Hyourinmaru, not even one droplet.

She giggled girlishly to herself, and rolled up her pants. "Nice try," she chuckled. There was a blackened hole on her thigh, and right under it was a dark gothic number eight.

His first thought was that he'd hit her right through the Hollow hole. The second was noticing the tattoo.

**SHIT, Hyourinmaru!**

**Their power has increased drastically, Toushirou. You can feel it in this one Espada's attacks. The former Eighth's was far weaker.**

**…She hasn't even… released yet…**

Fresa ripped at his arm. He gritted his teeth as the memorable smell of a coppery tang entered his nose and the warmth of blood trickled down his arm.

**…She could have broken my arm had I not dragged it away in time…**

Hitsugaya stumbled clumsily as the music came back into his ears again. He was tired, so tired…

--_Light, Dark, what does it matter, I'll break it all apart, slip into the dreams--_

The taicho dived at Fresa, bellowing a war cry at the top of his lungs. The Espada swiftly darted away, not expecting his sudden offensive move, but she wasn't slow enough.

_-Sweet, sleep, sweet, sugared loves, song of the nightingale, frosted dreams--_

He cut a deep scar underneath her eye, and skidded to a halt, panting. His chest cramped lightly and he almost sank into his knees, he felt so weary… so quickly…

**…Little one… do you remember how you won, against Aizen…?**

Hyourinmaru's tones filled his thoughts again. His brain felt fuzzy, and the world was turning a sort, comforting black, a comforting oblivion, he wanted to rest… didn't matter, nothing mattered…

**Remember…? What are you… talking about…? Aizen… I don't remember…**

**HITSUGAYA TOUSHIROU!**

The captain's eyes wavered at the sudden shout. The white-haired tensai sank to his knees as the strength was sapped from him.

**HITSUGAYA TOUSHIROU!!**

**I…?**

**Do you not know? The grief! Your friends! Your Division! Your life! Your family! Your resolve!** cried the Heavenly Guardian, forcing their shared memories into the front of the immobile boy's mind.

_--Weaving ashes through the golden fields of May-wheat, reminiscences burned--_

In the blue-green depths, memories faded away painfully, unwillingly. There was a spark of life as a few were salvaged.

**I'm sorry- I don't understand what came over me-**

**Little one… how did you defeat Aizen?? There is not much time left-**

**How…? H-how… I- oh, shit… I… there's…**

His heart was beating erratically.

**I- I… **_**Hyourinmaru**_**, I…**

His brows furrowed as he thought deeply as he blocked another one of the strawberry-haired woman's clashes clumsily and returned the hit with his own. He was unbalanced, normally striking eyes glazing and brightening again and again. Missing his intended target, he stumbled behind her, back unguarded, and received another jagged cut across his back.

The air wasn't coming to his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

**I… don't… I don't remember… I… **_**don't remember**_**!! There's nothing… there's a gap in my time-space… I… there's only… a bit of Rukongai… ryoka… Arrancar mission- then… locked Senkai Gates… there's **_**nothing**_** in between!!!**

**Little one... I do not recall either.**

**I… **_**I**_**… **_**it's all gone**_**… **

**MOVE!!**

**Shit!!**

His left arm, already torn and bleeding steadily, was lacerated once again as he held it up to make sure his eyes were not gored out, his right arm unable to move with the weight of Hyourinmaru… he could barely keep his eyes open…

_--Take control, another little eye to add, beautiful, marbles, they are--_

**Little one, hurry and call on me!!! DO NOT BE FOOLISH!! KEEP IT OUT!! SHUT IT OUT!!** Hyourinmaru's commanding roar drowned out the sound of the harmony, which came back faster and stronger.

Hitsugaya nodded to no one in particular, eyes nearly sliding closed, the depths murky and dark.

"Sou…ten…" he mumbled, his bangs falling in the originally breathtaking orbs.

"Sou… ten… ni…" he tried again.

"SOUTEN NI ZASE, HYOURINMARU!!!" Hitsugaya screamed desperately in a final retaliation.

Ice exploded in tendrils of crystallizing water, spiraling into the darkening skies.

_--I'll find you, in the darkness of the forest where the bloody saffron sways, hiding is useless--_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

This was horrible. Seriously. How's Fresa? Too mary-sue-ish? Because if she is, I'm sorry, but I liked the idea of pupils growing. And Hitsugaya has to have a challenge, so I made the Espada stronger. And I know the basic view of who I'm going to kill off now. Also, I rewrote the first two chapters. Not the main context, but just fixed up errors and tried to make the transitions less heavy. Gods, whenever I reread what I wrote before I could die, it's that horrible.

Please review :D I like reviews.


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